Scrapbook Jewels
by Eirenei
Summary: AU-verse: Lily researched summoning rituals. However, her attempt at summoning a protector failed. Twelve years later, Harry is dying in the Chamber of Secrets...
1. Selfish

_**SELFISH**_

**Disclaimer**: I don't own the characters of Harry Potter or Bleach ; they belong to their respective owners– I only own the plot and story.

**Summary:** Harry is chucked in Azkaban. Who will help him? When will be his turn to be selfish? It's shounen – ai, meaning boy/boy love. Don't like, don't read!

**Shout Out:** This is an oneshot, although there is possibility of it being continued, if I would be bitten by that particular bug. Anyway, until that time comes, it would be classified under Scrapbook Jewels, where I would stack any crossovers with Harry Potter, but they wouldn't be all with pairings. I will post warnings if there would be pairing, and what kind – slash, hetero and pairing. If you disregard the warnings, don't come to cry to me.

* * *

"_It is not because the truth is too difficult to see that we make mistakes... we make mistakes because the easiest and most comfortable course for us is to seek insight where it accords with our emotions - especially selfish ones."_

/Alexander Solzhenitsyn/

* * *

Dull green eyes stared into pained jade ones.

"And why should I call upon you?" The young male voice asked the grief – stricken silhouette on the cold, damp ground. "Last I recall you said I was never your Master.'' Jade orbs widened.

"But – But -If you don't, you will – " The whispery voice rose up, hurried, frantic –

"Die?"

The young man shook his head sardonically. "Do you see me as someone who would fear death?" The silhouette on the ground was wracked with choked sobs.

"But you have so much – to live for!" He pleaded with his Master. "Let me help you – "

Green eyes blinked slowly. "I have nothing to live, and everything to die for. Besides, why should I trust you, only to be betrayed again?" his voice was calm – too calm, in fact. And it hurt the crumpled form on the ground to hear it, to know he was the reason for this once strong, honourable man, to be an empty husk of a person he was before.

He stood up. "Go. Find some other wielder – "

His thin wrist was caught in inhumanly strong grip, an elegant hand with long fingernails, silvery white in a dull light.

* * *

"_No_. No, I won't. I won't let you!" The man on the ground looked up at him, desperate jade eyes in the glaring contrast with dark purple eye shadow, shining with nearly animalistic desperation, small, silvery tracks of tears barely visible on pale, elegant-looking face. "I was a fool. A miserable fool to do – _that_ to you. Just – _please_...."

His voice was broken with grief. The slender hand – slender wrist in his grip was so frail, so unlike that of his Master –

Not grown up, strong and corded with fine muscles, honed from training, but frail, brittle and small, like those of a bird. The man before was now reduced to a malnourished teen, once strong body was now delicate as a finest porcelain, liable to break at the slightest movement on his part.

Once proud, strong face was diminished into sickly pale, gaunt features with blackish purple bags under tired eyes, indicating that he hadn't gotten any good sleep in a long time.

He was clothed in bare rags, with scruffy old cloak thrown haphazardly over his shoulders. He looked every inch of a beaten, defeated spirit who had no qualms about submitting to the eternal sleep that was Death.

Only his posture was as proud as ever, looking quite out of place on the forsaken being which was in such miserable state as he was.

The blood trickled slowly from the nicked cut on the wretched figure. And the white and purple cloaked man gulped at the sight.

"I – "He began lamely.

* * *

Jaded emerald eyes looked at the lamenting figure in front of him seriously.

He seemed to be well and truly sorry for what had he done.

He looked just as magnificent as he had on the day he had first met him.

Tall, regal-looking, clothed in white and purple ensemble, his skin pale as a moon, with serious face, purple eye shadow and those piercing jade eyes.

Messy chocolate brown strands of hair surrounded slender face with thin lips and straight nose, meshing slightly with the rich gray of furry collar.

And somehow... the picture of perfection was ruined with the heartbroken desperation of the man.

The blood trickled from the small wound his nails had nicked – really, the man's only imperfection was his set of infinitely sharp, twelve inches long pieces of weapons that were his nails.

He remembered only too well, his fascination with the man's nails.

He remembered, only too well, his death at the hands of this man, the sharp nails gutting his stomach, the spike of pain and then dull agony when his innards were lying under him slick and pulsing with blood and then, the darkness falling upon his stunned mind and oblivion –

He remembered the taste of betrayal in his mouth, like ashes and blood and something bitter –

He remembered this man coming into his cell somehow, looking at him with sorrowful eyes, so unlike those hard, indifferent, cold jade orbs that were his last memory before oblivion –

Closing his eyes, he fought the urge to rip his wrist out of that delicate looking hand, the urge to scream and back away, and scream and scream and scream –

Scream until his throat was raw with fear and anger and fury and terror and _oblivion _–

Shaking his head from the mindless ponderings, he looked at the kneeling person in front of him.

He blinked; time was running out. His head hurt and soon, they would be here to take him, Light or Dark, he cared not.

They would come here, to reclaim and destroy the weapon they had forged with their mindless struggles. His head was, despite the throbbing pain, clear, and wryly, he wondered, if that was side effect of being so near death.

How_... amusing._

Slowly, he blinked.

Idiots, the lot of them.

* * *

_Murderer. Betrayer. Filth. Freak. Freak. FREAK._

The litany echoed in his brain, strangely soothing for being composed of such hurtful words.

"Why won't you let me go?"

This time, he was honestly, curious.

"You know I am not the same, as I once was. So why come to me, when you could have a wielder already?" Green eyes were clouded with memories of violence and rare times he was... _happy._

_Was he?_

_

* * *

  
_

The spirit bowed his head. A trickle of blood slid down, from that fragile arm, down, to the silvery white skin and he was reminded of the time when his hands were soiled with more than this minute amount of blood.

When his pale skin was red and slick and warm with the liquid of life, his nostrils inhaling the bittersweet scent of iron and copper and something like death.

When those green eyes looked into his jade ones – so surprised, betrayed – _dismayed_ with his... betrayal.

The memories nearly made him sick with their clarity. Even so long after committing this... _sin_, he was haunted by them – he was hounded by longing – when he had seen the Ryoka fight alongside his Zapankuto – it was the second most painful thing he had ever experienced.

The Ryoka was so stubborn, so wilful, and for a moment, Muramasa was tempted to offer himself, to be used once again –

What stopped him from doing that, anyway?

Was it Zangetsu, his hand on the Ryoka's shoulder, the sword and wielder one in the dance of death? Like he had been once before, with him....

He gulped. "I am aware that you have... changed. " A nervous lick of pale lips. "I changed, too." He fought the urge to lower his eyes. "But without you... there's only half of me. "

A disbelieving snort.

Jade eyes flashed with irritation. "Do you think I liked it?" He hissed out, his quiet voice even more whispery. "Do you think I liked being a fool for so long? Contrary to your belief, I am not infallible or omniscient. " He nearly snarled at the stunned youth. "You and I, we were tied together, for better or worse -" He yanked the slender body down, unmindful of the pained wince of the green – eyed man.

"– I was _foolish _once, to disregard the bond between us. "

Now, they were face to face, furious jade orbs staring into stunned green ones. "Somehow, we got a second chance, and I, for once, don't intend to_ waste_ it!"

A stunned silence.

Muramasa breathed harshly. It was satisfying to see his wielder so stunned, finally shaken out of his apathy. He would feel a pang of regret at the feeling of loss on his face, emerald eyes wide with dismay.

"I don't care who are you nom," He spoke out again. "Be it Kuchiki Kouga, a noble of one of noble clans of Seireitei or Harry Potter, a wizard in Azkaban - _I. Do. Not. Care_." He growled out. "I don't care if you never call upon me - I will be with you. I will follow you, even if you don't want me to. But damn it, I _DO _care about you throwing your life away as if it were a worthless shinai!"

* * *

"Oh, _NOW_ you care!?" Harry spat out. "You - I was _NEVER _your Master. So don't ever presume to – "

His tirade was cut off as dry chapped lips descended on his snarling mouth.

He blinked, dumbfounded.

A kiss.

A.. Kiss

And then, he was lost –

'_That bastard - !'_ Harry whimpered with the intensity of the kiss.

It was so,_ so _wrong, and yet so _right_ – like he had found a missing piece of his soul. Even as Kouga, he hadn't felt such overwhelming wholeness like he did just now.

Mouth mashed together, teeth clashed and tongues duelled with each other. It was infinitely better than his kisses with Cho or Ginny. It was perfection.

Finally, they parted, panting lightly. "You..._ fucking_ idiot." Harry managed to get out, as their foreheads touched, their breaths mingling together. "Damn it, _why_ did you have to do that?"

An arrogant smirk made Harry bristle weakly at the idiotic, arrogant, _selfish_ Zapankuto. "You know my name, Harry – Kouga, whatever you are called now. Use it."

"No!" Harry snapped out, peeved. "You've gone too far!"

The smirk widened. "Have I? You_ never _were my Master, Harry." The smirk softened into a small smile. "But you were everything else."

Dumbfounded, the wizard blinked.

* * *

'_Everything else?'_ The last two words echoed in his still fuzzy mind.

"W – What do you mean?" He managed to get out weakly.

"_Everything _else." Muramasa confirmed quietly. "My brother. My friend. My family. My lover. My partner. My light."

With each softly spoken word, Harry felt himself become more vulnerable, his resolve to die fading.

_"Stupid,"_ Harry managed to choke out, his eyes prickling with unshed tears. Before his inner eyes, there flashed his life – as Kouga, as Harry and Muramasa was starkly outlined, shining like the brightest star in the dark winter sky.

"That's me," Muramasa agreed softly. "What a pair are we, ne?"

Snorting, Harry punched him weakly on his chest, but didn't refute the question.

* * *

Closing his eyes, Harry sighed as he snuggled into the white and purple clad body, inhaling the scent of blood and dew, regret and hope – he didn't even know that regret and hope could be described in scents, but somehow, they were.

A part of him was disgusted with himself for so quickly giving into Muramasa – the same Muramasa who used and then betrayed him, killing him in process.

That Slytherin part of him was currently screaming and clawing at the walls of his conscience to get the hell away from the man and never return.

But he was tired. Tired of being hurt, of having to take care of himself, of scraping the bare minimum allowed just to live, of being alone –

There were so many things that had broken him and he was too tired to piece himself back again.

He was beyond caring for his survival now. And for once, he would go with the flow, for once, he would forgive, not because he was told to forgive, but because of his own volition to do so.

He smiled, as he asked the question.

"Hey... Can I be selfish?"

* * *

**_/End – Owari/_**


	2. The Dragon And His Kitten

_**THE DRAGON AND HIS KITTEN**_

_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own the characters of _Eyeshield 21_ and _Harry Potter_ used in this story – they belong to their respective owners. I only own the story, written as it is.

_**Warnings: **_ It's a boy/boy love, meaning **Agon/Harry.** If you don't like the pairing, then shoo, go find something else to read, If you are one little curious kitten, then proceed at your own risk. Oh, and characters may be somewhat OOC, because story dictated them to be so. Oh, and Ginny bashing, don't forget Ginny bashing…. /evil leer/. Oh, and there's crude language... courtesy of Agon /sweatdrops/.

_**Shout out:**_ This little baby was written last year, but I had retyped it into electronic format only this year…. because I was bored and because I experimented. As for other stories, I will try to update them, but the updates will be sporadic and irregular. If anyone is curious, why the story is still under Bleach category, it is so, so it's easier found for those who doesn't have accounts.

_**Summary:**_ Kongo Agon is an untamed little animal in a human's guise. Harry Potter is a cynical hero of a Wizarding World. Throw them together… and watch the sparks fly. (Agon/Harry)

* * *

Kongo Agon. A famous name – or infamous, however the man looked at it. Animal grace. Godlike reflexes. Wild dangerous charm, that swept the ladies off their feet left and right. And the body – oh, the body! Men envied him, and yet worshipped him. Tall, without of an ounce of fat, with slender muscles that packed quite a punch. Soft, blemish-free golden skin which was offset with the man's signature mane of deep purple dreadlocks hanging a little past the wide shoulders, topped off with steel gray eyes on the graceful, and yet wild-looking face. The man was a baby of beau-monde, the camera absolutely loved him, he was one of THE names in the American football, right behind Eyeshield 21, Kobayakawa Sena and the "dark" Eyeshield 22, Yamato Takeru. He was also known to be a God in bed.

He was an animal. Literally and figuratively. Party animal, fuck animal – you name it, he got it. He was revered and feared because of his stamina… and of course, his penchant for violence. And sex. Simply speaking, Kongo Agon was pure animal in human body…. With almost scary intelligence lurking behind the blue – tinted glasses. He was known to make a riot, beat the dumbfuckers stupid enough to challenge him, take their lady friends and fuck the said lady friends through the bed all night long.

He was a heartbreaker; he saw a good chick, he seduced her, hot her into bed, and after the whole wham-bam, he threw the stupid bint out of the bed, never to call her back. Despite of that, women loved him; and the sex was fantastic.

* * *

"Oh, Harry, come on!" Hermione whined. Big brown puppy eyes looked at her friend imploringly. The said friend looked at the witch incredulously. "Hermione, are you _mad?!"_ the green-eyed man exclaimed disbelievingly. "We are here to hide from Death Suckers and you want to go ogle some Kongo…. person?"

"Yes, " The bushy – haired woman promptly answered with a dreamy smile on her face. "Besides, it's not as if we wouldn't be safe anyway – who would search for any of us in such crowd?"

"Two words, Hermione," her companion fairly hissed out. "_Point. Me._ Locator charm. " Brown eyes widened. "Oh… But _still…!"_ Hermione pouted. Harry sighed. It seemed that usually practical bookworm was head over heels in lust with the star linebacker of _Alabama Phantoms_. He had seen the man and wasn't overly impressed. Sure, the man was a great athlete, Harry had to hand him that – and would definitely made a superb Seeker if he had been wizard - but he was just one more face in the world.

* * *

… So _how in the Hell_ had he managed to land in the aforementioned man's bed, naked, his bum sore to the high heavens and with a monstrous headache on top?

He. Blamed. Hermione. Yeah, that was it. Harry winced at the harsh morning light, inwardly cursing whoever invented the stupid ting, called sun. If he ever got the idiot in his hands, he swore he would skin him alive, flay him in Nitroglycerine oil, freeze his bits to kingdom come… Yes, Harry was sadistic person. He blamed that interesting tidbit of his personality on Dursleys and Tommy boy… oh, and Marauders, too. Not many people knew, but the Gryffindor Golden Boy had a sadistic streak a mile wide. And he only cultivated it further, when he had come to truce with Severus Snape. But enough of that.

Cursing and mumbling under his breath, he quickly rolled out of the spacious, warm and oh-so-inviting bed. Wincing at the searing pain that lanced mercilessly through his skull, he quickly, albeit a little clumsily, began to dress.

Swearing again, as he had to deal with double pain – his hangover, and then the one in his rear end… when he finished, he quietly sneaked out of the room to the toilet and Disapparated to his flat.

Hermione, of course, sulked. She was downright insufferable, Harry decided, and in a need of a good old fuck. Sadly, Hermione's one and only had ignored her in favor of Harry.

The next time they met was purely incidental. Of course, this time Agon fell for Hermione's charms, although there were times he looked at Harry, as if trying to remember something. Hermione was smiling like Cheshire cat the whole time Agon supposedly 'romanced' her. Harry, on the other side, didn't give a flying shit. He had warned her about Agon's tendencies with one – night stands. So he wasn't exactly surprised when she came back to their flat, loudly sobbing her little heart out.

Harry made her a hot chocolate and shooed her into bed. The bushy-haired witch then told him what happened.

Harry wanted to roll his eyes at the absurdity of it all. He was angry – no, not angry. More like… _irritated_. Hermione was still a child, despite her maturity. Despite her vast knowledge, she was pitifully inexperienced in the heart matters. Not that Harry was any better than her, but he had been forced to grow up quickly, what with the whole fucking wizarding world's expectations on his shoulders.

Harry sighed. He loved Hermione like little sister, but even he had his limits. Looking out, he massaged his right temple. "Maybe a walk will do me something good. " He mumbled out.

Quickly penning a message to Hermione – '_Went out to walk. Harry_.' – He took his wand and some money for souvenirs, and sneaked out.

It was a hot summer day, and Harry enjoyed it immensely. He loved the feeling of the sun rays on his skin, and an occasional cool breeze. He enjoyed listening to hustle and bustle of the town, so different from home. He marveled at the skating daredevils and laughed at street performers' antics.

After buying some souvenirs, he found a quiet restaurant to order a dinner.

He was enjoying the sun and the feeling of his stomach being full with delicious food, when someone interrupted him.

"May I sit here?" The voice was slightly accented. Harry opened one eye. _'Oh. Hell. NO.'_ "Sure. As long as you don't get between me and the sun.'' he replied lazily. The man sat down. "What? No accusations of being a cheater or what?" The man asked nonchalantly, a daring smirk on his face. Harry blinked at the question. "What for?" he asked, baffled. The man smirked arrogantly. "I fucked your sister. " Harry snorted.

"And that concerns me, _how?_ I am not her guard dog. She's old enough to take care of herself. " Gray eyes widened. The man gaped.

"Flies, man, flies." Harry drawled at him, smirking. "And for your information – she's just my friend.'' Snapping his jaw shut, the man narrowed his eyes. "I warned her, " Harry continued, stretching out comfortably. " 'S not my fault she chose to ignore my warnings. " the silence stretched between them.

"Do you know who I am?" the man asked him, smirking. Harry snorted. "Kongo Agon. Should I care?" He snarked.

Agon's eyes narrowed. This man was infuriating! He expected him to do anything but stay calm.

What? His favorite sport was pissing off and then crushing people. But this… pipsqueak didn't want to play by rules. He had expected the man would yell and threaten him, maybe even try to sock him one – but _noo_, the prey_ ignored_ him. _Him - !_

He knew who Agon was, and still ignored him. It was irritating.

He looked at the man.

He was smaller, reaching to Agon's chest at most, with black, messy hair that fell to his shoulders and some orange streaks mixing in, reminding Agon of little flames hiding among dark smoke. He was slender and graceful, like jungle cat. But what attracted Agon the most, were his eyes. Dark green, like the clearest emeralds, they shone behind the square glasses contentedly. The man seemed to be harmless, even timid, but Agon felt there was something more. Raw passion and explosive feeling and –

He blinked at the vague memory of the same green eyes clouded with pleasure, the silkiness of those orange – streaked black tresses and the pliant warmth –

Since that one night, when he had woke up in his bed alone – which was unusual, because the chicks clung to him to the wee morning hours – he was mystified as who had been his partner for the night.

The sex was fantastic…. And Agon wanted more. But what irked him the most was the fact that he had slept with a man. At first, he had freaked out. He wasn't gay, was he? But… this person… it felt as if he were made for Agon. And that pissed the man all the more. He was heterosexual, damn it!

That caused him to go on the sex-spree of epic proportions. He'd sexed up he chicks left, right, front, center and back, and it still wasn't enough! And _no,_ he wouldn't want to touch a man that way even with a ten feet pole!

And then, he met his… nymph again. Just for the kicks of it, he had seduced his sister. Agon grimaced at the memory. The bushy-haired chick was a virgin and had watched him with moony eyes – just what he liked… or so he had thought. The sex was… satisfactory, he supposed, but it still wasn't that something he had experienced with the green – eyed man. Fuck, he could fuck as much as he liked, but all encounters paled in comparison with the one with his kitten. And that drove Agon _bonkers._

He had been insufferable. He had even appeared at the practice matches – and tore through his teammates as if they were mere children and not heavy pure muscled men that played one of the most brutal sports in the world. They were afraid, no,_ terrified_ of him.

And that little green– eyed shit had the galls to act nonchalant! He stewed in his anger a little more. But if he wanted to get some…

He put his shaded glasses down and smiled. The kitten looked taken aback at his sudden change of demeanor. "Oh, no reason. But, " The gray eyes sparkled innocently, "I would like to know your name, if I may." The kitten blinked.

"Are you drunk?"

Agon bristled at the blunt question. "Of course I'm not!" He growled out.

Green eyes stared at him. "I just didn't hear you ask for my name. It doesn't matter, anyway, as you will forget it in… oh, half an hour. "

'_Damn.'_ Agon groused to himself. "Why would I? Your green eyes are unforgettable," he smiled disarmingly. "I just want to know the name of the person who is the owner of such beautiful orbs."

Harry stared at him incredulously. "You sure are laying it on thick," he commented dryly, as he waved the waiter for receipt. Agon grounded his teeth. That one was stubborn. Suddenly, he smirked. "Then I'll call you kitten." Wide emerald eyes stared at him. "Wha - ?" Then narrowed. "I _refuse_ to be called that!" he growled out.

Agon smirked. _'Gotcha.' _"Then tell me your name, kitten," He drawled out, smirking triumphantly.

"No thanks, mister tomcat. Go find some pussy elsewhere." Agon choked on the air at the unrepentant answer. _"You – "_ He growled out. Harry smirked. But his smirk fell at Agon's next words. "So why did you flee that morning, kitten?"

"Oh, damn," Harry muttered. "How – " "- I knew?" Agon finished smugly. He leaned forward. "Can you keep a secret?" Harry nodded eagerly. "So can I." Agon finished, leaning back, smirking smugly. Harry grimaced. "I fell right into that one, didn't I?" He muttered to himself. "Yup!" Agon nodded, grinning as he put the shades back on his face.

Harry sighed, irritated. "Because you are well - known for one-night stands and besides, I just didn't want to wait here for you to kindly throw me out." He answered shortly. "Ah." Agon blinked. Harry paid the waiter and stood up. "It was… _pleasure_ to chat with you, but I must be off now. "

"Kitten… at least give me your phone number, " Agon pleaded Harry looked at the man. Agon genuinely wanted to be in contact with him, but… He shook his head. "No. Besides, I am just a tourist – " He was grabbed by the arm.

"Why didn't you say so? Come on, let's go sightseeing!"

And so, Agon dragged the protesting wizard out on the sightseeing tour, with himself as a guide.

* * *

It was fun, Harry had to admit. At first, he didn't want to do anything with the dread – haired footballer, but Agon proved him that he wasn't only sex machine on two legs for women. They talked, laughed, teased and snarked at each other. Harry had bought Agon a knitted cap to hide his dreads under, and Agon returned the favor with a pair of cat ears; he laughed at Harry's incredulous grimace/pout, and he couldn't help but flash the kitten an amused smirk whenever he saw those black ears sitting on the kitten's head. They went to arcade, where harry had beaten Agon soundly, causing him to pout. Agon had won him plushy, a purple dragon, , which got Harry blushing for some reason.

All would be well, if some morons hadn't decided the pair would be perfect punching bags just because Agon had a possessive hold onto Harry over his shoulders.

The idiots suffered. And Harry saw Agon's true nature, of being a bloodthirsty, violent beast.

Harry stared at Agon, his green eyes wide. "Kitten?" Agon asked hesitantly. It was stranger, how the man could turn entire 360 degrees – grinning with savage delight as he gave the punks the most painful lesson _ever,_ and when he finally came to his senses acted like a kicked puppy, afraid that Harry would reject him.

They stood in front of each other, stunned green eyes staring into apprehensive gray ones. And then, Harry moved.

With lightening fast reflexes, he threw the small stone past Agon's left shoulder. His aim was true – the thug collapsed on the ground, unconscious, gun clattering harmlessly on the pavement. "You missed one," Harry said dryly at Agon's disbelieving glance.

Agon blinked. Then snorted. Soon, he was laughing as if there was no tomorrow, his mirth causing Harry's lips to twitch.

Agon still called Harry 'Kitten', even if Harry had told him his name. After that thug – incident, Agon also began to persuade him to join Phantoms as a reserve Quarterback. Harry refused, citing he was in USA only as a tourist; hence he wasn't qualified for being any kind of player. Agon also introduced him – reluctantly, mind you – to Sena and Yamato; Harry developed a firm carameraderie with the Eyeshield duo, much to Agon's consternation. Hermione still sulked, going as far as to move back to England. Thus, Harry was all alone in the land of dreams, and he seriously began to think about permanently staying here. The money wasn't problem, and he breezed through the NEWTS examinations, thanks to the rigorous training Snape forced upon him. Although harry loved the wizarding world he didn't like it enough to stay in it his whole life. He had enough adventures to last him for three lifetimes, thank you very much!

And so, he found himself an apartment, and began working as a part – time zookeeper. That didn't save him from being dragged to Agon's matches though; be that practice or official ones.

His relationship with Agon progressed from tentative strangers to firm friends. In fact, harry was the only one capable to rein in the stubborn genius, if the need arose. They bickered, argued, threw tantrums, had fantastic make-up sex –

Wait. Rewind. _Make-up sex?_

If someone would have asked them, they would have termed their relationship as friends with occasional – make that frequent – benefits.

The first time they had done it, they both had been drunk as a pair of skunks. Harry had sworn upside down he wouldn't let there be any second -or, God forbid, - third next time. But somehow, the promises had gone all down the drain.

Agon still had the occasional chick – hunt, which Harry didn't mind as much as some would think. Agon, on the other side, minded Harry's admirers very much. Sometimes, they had a huge row about the topic, as Agon was very possessive of what he claimed was his. It happened that harry was dancing with some chick which was very touchy – feely and Agon stormed across the dance floor, successfully terrorizing the spectator and making the girl cry.

Later, Harry would bonk him on the head and lecture him about being possessive, selfish jerk, which would spark a row and then would lead to the most explosive make-up session either of them ever participated in.

* * *

Harry was lounging comfortably in his seat, waiting for the match to begin. But then, he noticed something. …. Green eyes narrows in suspicion. Of course, the other spectators didn't notice anything yet, but harry had been trained to spot trouble and there definitely was trouble! And just five minutes before the match… Harry noticed that the _Phantoms'_ coach was decidedly nervous, and that meant:

a) Agon was stubborn

b) Agon was in pissy mood

Or c) there was serious trouble involving the team members.

Someone timidly cleared their throat. Harry turned, coming face-to-face with the assistant coach. "Oh. Hello, Yue. Is Agon throwing his temper-tantrum again?" he asked dryly, brow arching in askance. "N – Not exactly," the timid man stuttered. "Kongo – san demands you to come down." Harry blinked. "Do you know why?" he asked curiously, as he stood up. Yue cringed. "I am not allowed to tell you. Kongo-san ordered me to fetch you ASAP, though." Big brown eyes looked at Harry apologetically. Harry nodded to himself thoughtfully. "Hmm… Typical Agon," He muttered gruffly. Yue looked at him incredulously.

Heck, Agon was a nightmare to work with for every sane coach of American football out there. But the sad truth was, Agon was true, bona-fide genius at what he was doing, much to the coach's and his teammates' dismay and public delight. The only two who gave him even a remote sense of challenge was the Eyeshield duo, and even then, Agon was gaining on them bit by bit. And _that_, in itself, was scary.

"What the fuck did you call me down for, Agon!" Harry stormed into the locker room. Agon smirked at the pissed look Harry currently was sporting on his face. He grinned a psychotic grin. "Catch." With that he tossed the bundle to Harry, who caught it with his Seeker-honed reflexes.

Harry instinctively grabbed d the bundle, and immediately, he gawped. "Are you fucking _mad_, Agon?" He yelped out incredulously. There, on the silver and violet bundle, it was number 01 and his surname - Evans – on the back.

"Not at all," Agon spoke out lightly, "You and I know that you are good enough to be a quarterback. Matthews injured his back on the way here – "Harry lifted an eyebrow disbelievingly. " – In the car accident," Agon continued unrepentantly. "And I," Agon's eyes glinted manianically, "certainly don't intend to lose to that fucking _trash."_ That got Harry's attention like nothing else. "So… Your opponent is Clifford," He muttered out thoughtfully. Agon sneered. "And _how,_ pray tell, could I help you? Clifford is known as a tricky player, and I didn't play with you guys – not seriously, anyway," He turned to the rest of players.

Agon smirked. "Trashes, this shrimp here – " Harry sent him an irritated glare – "Don't you _dare _" He hissed out, bristling slightly.

" – is Kitten." Agon continued unrepentantly, smirking his infuriating smirk.

Snarling, Harry marched up to the amused dread – locked fucker and thwacked him on the head. "Ow, what did you do _that_ for!?" Agon complained, rubbing the bump.

Green eyes stared at him, furious. "You_ know _I don't like to be blackmailed, Agon," The slender man hissed at him, sounding like an enraged cat. Agon smirked. Harry became even more infuriated. "A - Are you really?" Someone interrupted him. Harry rolled his eyes. "Yeah, no thanks to him," he glared at the smug Agon sulkily. "Now, shall we?"

The _Crimson Tornadoes_ didn't know what hit them. Usually, Clifford's brains saved them from whatever hole they managed to get themselves into. They expected this match to be no different than usual, but the fucking dreads just had to go and fetch out the reserve quarterback nobody had known about, hadn't he? Usually, the _Phantoms_' lead quarterback would be Matthews, but he couldn't rein in Agon even if his life depended on it. On the contrary, this… _Evans,_ didn't give a flying shit about Agon's superiority complex and somehow, got him to operate alongside the team. Agon alone was a force to be reckoned with, but coupled with Evans…. He was beyond terrifying.

* * *

Kongo Agon was nervous. It was totally new experience – he shouldn't have been so nervous at all, just because that green – eyed trash. But the problem was, he was fonder of the mentioned trash than he thought. At first, it was only sex. Yeah, it was mind-blowing, but there was more still. The man became his acquaintance and then his closest friend, and slowly, but surely, Agon was totally ensnared within those enticing green eyes. And yet… he didn't say anything. The words that usually spewed out of his mouth with such ease were somehow lodged in his throat. He tried to spit them out, when Harry was asleep, but he couldn't; not aloud, anyway. At first, he tried to quench that feeling with sexing up every pretty woman, but soon, he found out it was futile endeavor. They were… too clingy, too whiny, their skin was too soft, their bodies were all wrong, their voices too high… Agon wasn't dumb. He saw how women looked at his green-eyed friend, and his gut clenched at the thought that one of those harpies might one day take his Harry away from him. Harry was _his,_ damn it!

* * *

Harry idly watched the world go by. It was a welcome change from the usual fast pace of war... or occasional match. It was funny, how Agon had manipulated him into leading the match, the jerk. But Harry repaid him for that stunt in spades. He smirked cruelly at the thought. With Agon, it all was a battle, who was better than whom, and so on. Sometimes, it made Harry tired just by thinking about it. But Agon… no matter how unbelievable it may sound… actually grew on him. Sure, he was one manipulative son of a bitch, who enjoyed crushing the so-called talentless trash under his superior abilities, and simultaneously caused Harry migraines with his stunts and continuous itch to hex him to Mars and back – Harry sourly wondered if that was what he got for annoying Snape, then it was a cruel and unusual punishment. He smiled. Even if Agon was a Trouble with capital T, he was honest – most of the time – and he stuck with his friends – namely him; so he could barely imagine his life without the arrogant ass in it. And what was more, Agon could – and would – protect himself, as he had proved Harry numerous times already. Nobody could down Agon, whether it was physical fight or sneak attack. Those fools, who actually tried it, were harshly – and painfully – discouraged from doing so ever again. But lately, Agon was… somewhat twitchy, Harry noted, frowning. It was unlike Agon to reject a good fuck. When Harry alerted him to the plethora of good chicks that followed him, he only shrugged his shoulders and muttered that he wasn't interested! Harry was gob smacked. And that continued. The only thing that convinced Harry that Agon was still Agon was his bloodlust. And even there, Agon was sharper and more merciless, not toying with his prey, but getting straight to the business.

He watched the sunset sightlessly, thinking about the enigma that was his dread – haired friend. They were free this evening, which usually meant that they would go on a chick hunt, or stayed in the house, watching the matches on TV or something.

Suddenly, a crack of Apparation sounded, immediately springing Harry into hiding.

"Harry!" A female voice shrieked out.

Inwardly, Harry groaned. "Hey, Ginny," he greeted the youngest Weasley reluctantly.

The redhead was in process of launching herself at Harry, when –

"What the fuck is going on here?" Agon's cold voice echoed in the room. Ginny yelped, surprised, and to Agon's relief, halted her… assault at Harry.

"Who the_ hell _are you!?" She screeched at the pissed linebacker.

This time, Harry groaned… Loudly.

Agon sneered. It was a Snape – worthy sneer, too. "I am Kong Agon. " He eyed the flat – chested girl disdainfully. "And what the_ fuck_ are you doing in my fucking flat?" He snarled out, gray eyes flashing dangerously.

Ginny sniffled primly. "What? Can't I visit my fiancé?" She returned saucily.

Agon's world shattered in that moment. He looked at Harry, searching for any sign that the redhead's words were false. To his surprise, Harry was white as a sheet, his eyes glazed with shock. That confused Agon. Harry should be happy that his fiancé visited him. Instead of that, his friend was now glaring at the redheaded female murderously.

"Ginerva Molly Weasley." Harry's voice was morphed in a poisonous hiss. "You will explain this instant, or Merlin help me…" he growled out.

Agon would have winced if he wasn't equally incensed at the chit. Harry could be scary when he was mad. Ginny blinked. That wasn't the reaction she had hoped for. The dread – haired man was mad, and for some reason, Harry was pissed. She gulped.

"B – But…." She began hesitantly. "Y – You love me and the Ministry issued a decree that all Muggle - borns were to be married to a wizard – raised person."

Harry paled again. "Those old coots again, I see," he muttered out. "But don't worry, "Ginny chirped out, blinking for what she thought was a seductive wink at the furious wizard. "I'll take care of you – "

"What, you think I am a pet now?" Harry commented dryly.

* * *

Agon couldn't help himself. He snickered. Furious, Ginny turned to him, only to gape afterwards.

Agon seemed so… innocent, like a small kid. Harry had to hide a smirk at her dazed expression. Those who didn't know his friend were often dazed by Agon's bipolar tendencies. From Devil to Angel in less time that took human to blink…. No wonder Agon was so unpredictable.

"Wow…" the red – haired menace breathed out, stunned. Agon had to suppress a shiver at the banshee's adoration – filled stare. If he could, he would pout at Harry's smug smirk.

The witch managed to tear herself away from Agon's angelic visage. "But Harry!" She whined. The dreaded puppy-eyes didn't have any effect at the irritated wizard. "N – O. the answer is still no, and I won't change my mind about that. " Agon smirked at Harry's answer.

"Besides, he's already taken," He purred out, a shit – eating smirk on his face.

"_WHAT!?"_ The banshee's shriek made their eardrums ringing painfully. "Who took my Harry from me? Tell me, _NOW!"_ She demanded, her eyes blazing with fury.

Agon smirked. "Me." He drawled out silkily. That stopped the banshee short.

"Y– You?" she choked out, her eyes wide.

"_Aah?_ You have problems with that?" Agon drawled out, smirking. "Yes!" the chit screeched out. "He should be with me! He's MINE!"

Agon's face darkened at her diatribe. "Oh, really?" He drawled out silkily. "Listen, bitch, Harry is his own person, and I won't allow you to tie him up into some fake contract you thought up to catch him!" He crackled his knuckles menacingly. Ginny scowled at him.

"It's true!" she insisted. "Our parents betrothed us at birth – "

Harry snarled. He was willing to hear her out, but that took the cake. "Is that so?" his eyes were furious. "As far as I know, there was NO such contract in the Potter vaults – and believe me, I've looked through all the contents. But you," he smirked maliciously - "dare to imply that you have a legitimate reason for marrying me. Even if you did… "He paused.

"I, Harry Jams Potter, do hereby call unto the use the Life Debt of one Ginerva Molly Weasley. I demand that she denounces all the ties - be that by family, betrothal contracts or friendship to me and don't apprehend me in any way, shape or form henceforth. So I said, so mote it is!"

Harry's voice seemed to like thunder to Agon's ears. He knew that Harry was strong, but this… this was on another level entirely. "Harry… you can't…" The desperate girl pleaded, her brown eyes brimming with tears.

Harry looked at her calmly. "Yes, I can. I'm sorry – no, I take that back. You didn't listen to me, not at all. You only saw your needs and dreams. What about me? You know what I had to go through with those idiots back home – they either praised me or shunned me – but either way, I didn't have an ounce of peace I needed for myself. You just wanted a hero, not me. You are still a kid; you were too sheltered, too far away from the war. "Agon gave a start_. 'War? What war?'_

It seemed that Harry had more secrets than he had thought.

Ginny burst into tears and Disapparated.

Agon gawped. "Where did she go?" he asked dumbly.

Harry sighed a weary sigh. "It seems that I have to give you _The Talk_." He muttered, defeated.

Agon eyed him balefully. "Yes, you should," he growled out.

* * *

Five hours later, Kong Agon was officially lost. To think that an entire civilization was hiding among the ordinary people…. He was flummoxed. But Harry had shown him the war in a nifty little bowl with silver substance, called Pensieve.

"You… really did that?" he asked quietly. He felt Harry nod against his chest mutely. Agon didn't like that Harry had hidden his past from him, but now he understood why. He understood why Harry was so twitchy at the beginning of their relationship, why he was so efficient on the field…

Harry was conditioned to be a survivor. And he, Agon, didn't help to reduce the pressure on his green – eyed lover.

"Are you… angry with me?" Harry whispered.

"Hn." Agon grunted out. "I should be… but I understand exactly why you did what you did. I only have one question. "He felt Harry tense.

"Y – Yes?" Harry asked hesitantly. He cursed his voice for sounding so small.

Agon smiled. "Will you stay with me?"

"Huh?" Harry blinked. "What – "

"I would like to keep you anyway," the dread – haired man continued gruffly, his gray eyes serious.

Harry's eyebrows arched. Inwardly, he was so relieved, he could cry. "Keep me?" Instead of light, teasing voice, it came out as something squeaky and high.

"Yes, keep you. As in, for myself. No fiancés allowed." Harry's snort made him smile. "Like a pet?" Harry teased him.

"Not a pet… "Agon grimaced. "God knows I am horrible with them."

At that remark, Harry couldn't help but laugh. A true, heartfelt laughter that made Agon pout. But he smiled into Harry's hair. "Well, shrimp," he drawled out. "Shall I take that as yes?" Harry nodded, smiling. "I only have one condition. " Agon eyed him warily.

"I cook," Harry finished cheekily. "Why you!" Agon growled playfully. And thus, the tickle war began.

Since then, the relationship between them was better than ever. Harry was relieved he could talk to Agon freely, without having to censor his speech or actions. Agon was especially fascinated with Quidditch, and he was in awe with Harry's ability on the broom. But he still liked the American football more, although he wouldn't mind trying out as a Beater, if he could.

Harry sighed a long –suffering sigh. Half an hour ago, he had received an invitation to Bill's wedding to Fleur. And of course, they had begged him to attend the whole shebang.

He heard the door slam shut. Ah… Agon was home. Some shuffling later, Agon came into the kitchen, embracing the smaller male around the waist.

"Hello, kitten," Agon purred out, nuzzling his nose into Harry's wild, crimson – streaked mane.

Despite his troubled mind, Harry smiled. "Hello, dragon," he replied, his left hand tangling in the soft purple dreadlocks. He loved to play with Agon's hair; much to the latter's amusement. "You hungry?" He inquired, green eyes meeting gray ones. "Mm. Yeah. " Agon smirked. "Only if you are dessert." Harry chuckled.

"Insatiable, "He teased the dread – head fondly, shivering at Agon's evil chuckle. The letter fluttered off the kitchen desk lazily, forgotten in the aftermath of heated kisses.

Agon snarled, irritated. "Whoever invented those Portkeys better be fucking _dead,_ else I will go Hiruma on their asses." Harry choked with laughter. "Oh… Agreed." Just like Harry, Agon had found out he detested the evil little things called Portkeys with passion. God forbid if Hiruma got one of them in his hands. Or… maybe not. Agon's evil grin didn't particularly reassure the people that came to greet the duo.

The twins eyed the… strange… guest… apprehensively. It didn't particularly reassure them that the aforementioned guest arrived with Harry. He was tall, had good build, interesting blue shades and undoubtedly, his choice of hairstyle was guaranteed to drive one Molly Weasley up the wall. Still… he seemed psychotic… and not in a good way. They shivered, as the man looked at them, thirst for blood clearly seen in his eyes.

"Um, Harry?" One of the twins asked timidly. Harry turned around, smiling. "Oh, hey, Gred, Forge. Long time no see…" the twins grinned, relieved at Harry's good-natured greeting. But before they could glomp their secret benefactor, a possessive arm wrapped itself around Harry's waist, stopping them in the middle of pounce.

"_Aah?_ Did you _want _something?" Agon drawled out, his voice dangerously silky. Harry had to suppress the snort at the twins' chalk – white faces. Heh… Agon had that kind of impression on people – and Harry never tired of watching people gawping over Agon's lightning –fast changes from badass to a good boy.

"Oh, and he's my boyfriend, Kongo Agon. Agon, they are the infamous twins I have told you about," Harry introduced him. Agon gave them a curt nod. "These trashes are brothers of the banshee bitch that broke in out apartment?" He asked, smirking.

The twins became red with anger. Harry just groaned, face palming. Yup, typical Agon.

"Agon…" he sighed. Agon eyed him unrepentantly. "What? I tell the things like I see them," he grumbled out. The twins blinked. Harry sighed again. Oh joy of having to explain… _again_…

"Two weeks before, Ginny Apparated into our home, and tried to persuade me into marrying her," He said sardonically. "I had to use a Life Debt she owed me – "

The listeners inhaled sharply. "Life Debt?" Charlie asked, his voice trembling with shock. Harry nodded firmly. "I've had enough of her fangirlish tendencies to last me a lifetime. She saw only 'Boy –Who-Survived', and not me, Harry. She went even so far as to forge the Betrothal Contract. "The Weasleys saw Agon stiffen at the mention of the loathed paperwork, looking like a caged beast. The twins immediately sobered. "We knew she liked you, but going so far as to forge the Contract…. "George muttered, horrified at their foolish little sister's doings. "She's lucky you didn't press charges…" Harry nodded resignedly at the remark. "Ron is going hit the roof," He told the listeners flatly. "Not to mention Mum and Ginny…" added Fred, his freckles in stark contrast with paleness of his face.

"Don't worry, we have your back. I just hope your lover boy here is useful, "Charlie eyed Agon lazily. Harry chuckled. "Don't worry, I trust him. He's the best thing that happened to me… Ever. "He finished, blushing slyly at the proclamation. Agon grinned smugly at hearing Harry's words. Inside, he was touched. Harry wasn't big on words. Heck, most of the time they teased or pissed off each other than doing any lovey-dovey crap. It was an interesting change for Agon; for once, he didn't have to hold back his nature. He could be mean, he could be cruel, he could be violent and insensitive prick – hell, he could be a total animal, but Harry was there with him, no sugarcoating his words or deeds. If he did something stupid, Harry told him in no uncertain terms.

The sex was fantastic, too.

But Agon had learned to appreciate the simpler joys of life, too. Oftentimes, he found himself as a companion to Harry when they were watching dusk or dawn or stars; and the learned to love their walks alongside the beach, listening to the sea. He got use dot Harry using him as a makeshift pillow after sex, and waking up curled around the smaller man. Harry's dry humor and quick wit never did cease to amuse him; and yet, he liked their talks about random things too.

Harry didn't hold him back; instead, he did opposite. Agon was free to go wherever and however he wished – but somehow, all those things lost their shine greatly when he found out that Harry wasn't with him to enjoy them. Because he was free, he always returned to Harry. He wasn't met with accusations or tears. Harry just quirked a sardonic eyebrow at his sometimes bloody, sometimes shagged appearance, and that was it.

But, Agon had found out that open relationship was a bitch… Especially with Harry's new friends. Harry was _HIS,_ damn it! Those trashes didn't have any right to touch what was his!

The dragons were possessive creatures when it came to things or people they considered to be worthy enough to be theirs.

Agon was no different.

The twins eyed him calculatingly. "Oh – ho… Forge, me thinks we have a courter for our little brother's hand on our hands, " The first twin drawled out, hazel eyes sparkling with malicious light. Suddenly, Agon felt afraid.

"Indeed we do, Gred," the other smirked. Yup… Agon gulped. _Very _afraid. Just what had he gotten himself into?

* * *

Harry was greeted enthusiastically by Remus and heavily pregnant Tonks. Molly fussed over him as usual, exclaiming he was still too skinny, and proceeded to try to stuff him with her homemade pumpkin pie. Percy greeted him amiably – the family life had done the wonders for usually pompous third eldest Weasley. Penelope was holding their firstborn, Mathilde, nicknamed Matty. The little girl was a cutie, what with her strawberry red hair and cherubic face with large blue eyes. She was a quiet girl, and to Harry's surprise, she had taken an immediate liking to him. The twins teased him about being a cradle-robber, much to Agon's amusement. Harry rolled his eyes good – naturedly, smiling slightly as he returned the pouting child to her mother. Ron was Ron as usual, even being with Hermione, he shamelessly drooled over Gabrielle, who had grown up into quite a stunning girl. Shame she had set her eyes on Charlie, who didn't mind her attentions one bit. Hermione didn't look exactly happy; Harry got a hunch she would be another McGonagall in the making. Agon was being Agon; his charismatic, golden self. Much to the twins' disbelief and Harry's amusement, Agon got the Weasley matriarch wrapped around his pinky finger, before they could spell Quidditch. No woman was left out of his.

Harry should have been irritated at Agon's behavior. Especially with so many Veelas milling around his boyfriend.

To tell the truth, one small part of his brains screamed at him for being stupid enough to leave Agon unattended in company of unnaturally beautiful females that didn't have a snowball's chance in Hell to reject Agon's seductive moves.

However, he'd learnt to ignore it, much to the bafflement of all gathered. When Hermione commented on Agon being apparently unfaithful to Harry in front of his very eyes, Harry snorted.

"I am not his ball and chain, Hermione," He explained her bluntly. "When I agreed to be his boyfriend, I knew about that. " Hermione blinked at him owlishly. "Why do you let him walk all over you, then?" She demanded her voice shrill. Harry winced at the sound. "I do not! " He protested. "Besides, even if he flirts with them, I trust him to come back to me, at his own will. Not because of some stupid obligations or morale. I have no need for sappy romantic confessions or the likes; as long as I'm with him, even if only as a friend, I am happy. "

That shut her up. The Veelas looked at Harry with appreciation, while Agon approached him. Harry smiled at the feeling of being embraced, letting the warmth of Agon's body soak into his skin. "You really are fucking nuts, Kitten," Agon murmured into his ear, with Harry shivering at the moist breath that caressed his sensitive skin. Humming slightly, he nodded. "I wouldn't have chosen you if I wasn't," He snarked back.

Agon chuckled a low, sexy chuckle. "Hmm. I liked you then, what with your sharp claws and all," He nuzzled possessively into Harry's hair. Harry growled. "You were being a fucking arse then," He scowled at the dread – head sulkily. "Agon grinned a wolfish grin. "Yup. " He chirped. " And don't you forget it!"

Harry smiled a sharp smile at the man. "Oh, I won't…. You remind me of that particular fact every day, anyway."

Their banter had the witnessed gawping at them. Molly looked as if she would faint, the twins and Remus were snickering like mad. Tonks was blushing heavily, along with Hermione and Gabrielle, while the others eyed the pair with shocked or scandalized expressions on their faces.

The boding ceremony was beautiful. Fleur fairly glowed in her wedding dress, and Bill was as proud a groom as one can be. Gabrielle and Ginny were maids of honor, but all agreed that this was truly Fleur's day.

Surprisingly, Agon wasn't caught in Veela's allure, along with Harry; even if it held the other men in thrall until their better halves snapped them out of their little trances.

Agon watched the ceremony in interest; he was especially awed at the magics that bound the happy couple. It was a truly sight to behold, and he knew that the pair would be together forever. He just wished… for a special someone to be with him forever, too. Especially when that special someone happened to stand on his left side, green eyes glistening with tears at the behalf of the happy couple.

Did we mention that dragons were possessive of their possessions?

When the bride threw the bouquet, it landed in Harry's lap. Agon smiled at Harry's flustered spluttering at the twins' good-natured teasing. He even threatened to throw the thing at them, with twins ducking in mock-fear behind amused Remus and Tonks.

Agon was watching the evening sky lazily, when he heard someone approach him. "Hello," the amber-eyed man smiled at Agon amiably.

Agon eyed the werewolf lazily. "Yo. What are you doing here?" Remus smiled. "I wanted to talk with you." Agon sighed. Another one. Oh, _joy._

"Hn." Agon grunted. The werewolf watched the shades-wearing youth carefully. His inner beast nagged him to proceed carefully around this one, which baffled him immensely. The man was a Muggle, and therefore harmless, right? Except of being shameless flirt and courteous against women, he wasn't a danger, right?

However, all his senses screamed at Remus that this man was an indisputable Alpha, if he ever saw one.

Looking into his eyes, Remus was jolted with the predatory gleam in those gray orbs. He was uncomfortably reminded of a Thunderbird - a vicious avian species, carnivorous and had a very quick temper, along with a vicious streak mile wide. It was said that it was safer to egg on a nesting Hungarian Horntail and escape without a scratch, than piss off a Thunderbird and get out in one piece. Remus gulped.

"Um… What are your intentions with Harry?" The werewolf asked bravely. Those gray eyes pinned him down. "H's mine." Agon said simply. Remus gawped unceremoniously. "Whuh?"

Agon turned to him completely. A simple black T – shirt clung to his body, showing off the muscles underneath the fabric. Faded blue jeans ripped on the left thigh and comfortable sandals on feet. The fuchsia-colored, dreadlocked mane hung down just a little past the man's wide shoulders. And a simple platinum chain as a necklace around his neck.

Remus gulped. Agon looked badass, and he knew it. "But – "He protested. Agon sighed. He was fed up with everyone interrogating him about his intentions with Harry. _'One more person,_' He swore internally, 'and_ the blood will run.'_

"Listen, wolf," He grunted, not caring about werewolf's flinch at the crude address. "I don't care who the fuck are you. You could be a fucking God, and it would mean shit to me. You may be Harry's last link to his parents, but that doesn't mean I would allow you to nose around our relationship. But for your sake, I will explain it to you in three simple words_. He. Is. Mine. _Any trash that would dare to lay their grubby paws on him, I will _annihilate _them._" _The last sentence, Agon practically snarled into Remus' terrified face. "Tell the others to quit bothering us with their overprotective squawking. It goes on my nerves, and if I hear someone whine about it one more time…" He crackled his knuckles. "There will be blood." He said simply. Remus nodded hastily, simply too terrified to speak.

* * *

"Harry, mate, " Ron began, munching on the chicken leg noisily. Harry eyed his so-called best friend in disgusted awe. "For Merlin's sake, Ron, swallow before you speak!" Apparently Ron still had the manners of a caveman while it came to food… Unlike Harry, who decided against working any magic-related jobs, Ron had pursued the career of an Auror. The training had done some good for him; he practically towered over Harry with his 6.1 feet, and was appropriately muscled. A man would think he would be a chick – magnet, however it wasn't the case.

Ron rolled his eyes, but obliged. "What did you want to ask me about?" Harry inquired, an eyebrow arched. Uncomfortably, the bulky redhead shuffled in his seat. "Well, yes… I was wondering when'd you get back together with Ginny." He eyed Harry hopefully.

Harry sighed. _'This will get ugly… and fast.'_ He thought to himself sourly.

"Sorry, Ron, " he deadpanned flatly. "We're over."

As expected, Ron spluttered. "B - But why?" Harry cringed at the sight of bits and crumbs of food flying out from Ron's mouth. "because I don't like her that way." Harry growled out, annoyed.

"Besides, I am already in relationship with Agon. " Ron's eyes bugged out. "You WHAT!?" He shrieked out, his face purpling up, reminding Harry of his uncle Vernon.

Harry was becoming irritated with his best friend's behavior. "You are a… a…_ FAG!_" Ron accused him loudly.

By now, all attention switched to them.

Agon's eyes narrowed. He was used to media, but since he had came here with Harry, those… Wizards… were nosing around his relationship with Harry so much, it wasn't even funny.

Wherever they had gone, Agon felt inquisitive eyes on his back, and his fists began to itch something terrible, and he sorely wished he could teach those fuckers a lesson.

And just now, Ron fucking Weasel made a grave mistake of

a) insulting Harry

and

b) pissing Agon off. Neither option was particularly healthy for the idiots, dumb enough to lit the ire of the duo.

"_Aah?_ Did you _say _something?" Agon drawled out, crackling his knuckles. His face stretched from a small, pleasant smile, to a bloodthirsty grin. The wizards around him shuffled nervously, unnerved by his behavior.

Ron, being Ron, was still a doofus. True, he had grown tall and muscled, but Agon trashed guys like him for breakfast, and he wasn't even winded.

"Ron! Stop this shameful behavior this instant!" Molly demanded. But Ron was blind and deaf to all except that filthy Muggle who dared to mock him, the top Auror Trainee and a renowned war hero!

"_Harry!"_ Hermione shrieked into Harry's ear, making him wince at the loud volume. "Stop them!" Harry eyed her as if she was mad to demand that of him. Who in their right mind -

But Ron already charged toward Agon, intending to send the dread – haired fucker on the floor. Painfully.

However, he hadn't counted on Agon's reflexes. "Wuh?" He eyed the empty air dumbly. He was so sure he –

And then, his side exploded with agony.

The women screamed, and men cried out in surprise. Wizards were unused to solve the matters any differently than with wizards' duel. So this… _brawl _was completely unexpected. … Well, not by Harry's standards.

Harry sighed. Judging by their expressions, the fight will be long, bloody and tedious. He cast a protective barrier around the two brawlers and settled to wait.

By the end of the brawl there was no wizard that would ever make the mistake of thinking Muggles as 'harmless'. Agon had been brutal - Ron ended with broken nose, three left ribs clearly broken, along with his right kneecap and twisted shoulder, plus his left broken wrist, with badly bruised stomach and back. And the crème de la crème – Agon kneed him into groin sometime during the brawl. But the scariest thing was, the match lasted only half an hour, and Agon wasn't even winded!

* * *

Agon grinned a small, bloodthirsty grin as he crouched at the redhead's level.

"In all honesty, "He began," you are a fucking waste of time and space." He grabbed Ron's chin, squeezing it harshly, getting a pitiful gurgle from Ron. " I can't believe that Harry praised you as one of the best strategists." He snorted at the thought. "Honestly, I am surprised that he deemed you worthy of his friendship." Ron shuddered at the look in those gray eyes.

It was a look of an animal, predator eyeing its prey, deciding what to do with it. The primal force behind those eyes scared – no, terrified him.

Because. He. Had. Royally. Fucked. Up.

"You are trash." Agon paused, then smirked cruelly. "No. I take that back. You are _worse_ than trash," he sneered at the cowering redhead.

"Did you even_ LISTEN_ to Harry, just _why_ he decided like he had?" He cocked his head mock – curiously. "Or did you, in your awesome wisdom, jumped to conclusions, like an idiot you are?"

Harry blushed at Agon's tirade. "Agon – "He tried to stop his furious lover.

Agon eyed him, shaking his head. "No, Harry. I don't care about them. I understand why you are trying to protect this _bitch_ – " He sneered out the last word, " - but you owe them fucking _nothing._ This _trash_," He stood up, swiftly kicking whimpering Ron into the side," is the last straw.

Harry's mouth snapped shut. Now, the guests were becoming seriously curious.

Agon sneered at those vultures that dared to call themselves better than ordinary people. "Firstly, Harry is in a relationship with _me_, and if anyone of you trashes has a problem with it, I don't mind convincing… them, like I did with him." He eyed cowering Ron disdainfully. "Any objections?" When no one spoke up, he continued. "Good. Harry and I were together for almost a year, give or take a few months. It had been all good, until this _bitch_," He growled at the rapidly paling Ginny – " Apparated in our apartment, introduced herself as Harry's fiancé as per his parents' supposed wishes. " The crowd gasped and murmured.

Agon grinned a vicious grin. "However, Harry denied the Betrothal Contract, as he had already gone over all the documents pertaining the Potter family before he had left England, and the Goblins mentioned nothing about that particular Contract. " The crowd became deathly silent. Ginny tried to sneak away, but a growling Remus put her under Petrificus. "Continue," he snarled out, usually gentle brown eyes were now vicious yellow.

Agon nodded at the werewolf curtly. "Because she still bothered Harry, despite of him telling her to leave him alone, Harry had decided to activate a Life Debt. "

_"WHAT!?"_ Molly shrieked. The crowd was now in an uproar. "He demanded of her to denounce all ties to him, be that by family, betrothal contracts or friendship, and she is also prohibited to apprehend him in any way, shape or form henceforth." Agon finished the story.

"Ginny… Is that true?" Arthur asked quietly. All the eyes turned to watch the girl, who gulped and slowly nodded.

Ron also watched his little sister, bewildered, shocked, dazed and betrayed. The Contracts were a serious business, and to forge one… was unforgivable.

Especially if the Contract in question was a Betrothal one.

It was forbidden to forge them with a good reason. The Contracts were dangerous, because if the stipulations in a particular contract weren't fulfilled, the offending party lost their magic… painfully. The worst case was death.

Harry sighed at the fearful glances people were sending to him. "Remus, I am curious. Was it true that the Ministry ordered all the Wizardborns to marry Muggleborns? "He asked quietly.

The wolf blinked, stunned. "What on Earth - ?"

"No, it's not, " Percy spoke up, pale as a ghost. "Of course, there had been speculations, but nothing serious. "

"Oh, good, " Harry sighed with a relief. "I was really afraid for a second there. " He eyed the redheaded witch curiously. "But who on Earth would trick her into thinking such, then?"

* * *

The wedding reception was fairly quiet. The revelation of Ginny's duplicity had everyone on edge. The Weasleys were lucky that Harry hadn't demanded harsher reparations than he already did. Ron avoided Agon as if he were a Dementor. He had tried to apologize to Harry, but Agon refused to let the weasel go anywhere near the green-eyed wizard. Hermione didn't even try.

They had finally arrived back to their home. Agon could never understand how they were in front of the Burrow, bidding their farewell, but the next moment, they were home, in their brightly-lit house, while in England was a dark night.

He caught the tired wizard into his embrace. Apparating across such distance was no mean feat – in fact, Harry was probably the only one who could do it without splinching himself and with a Muggle passenger on board to boot.

"Harry?" he asked quietly. Harry only grunted and curled into him, making Agon smile slightly.

His little kitten…

Harry only grumbled a little when Agon carried him to their bed, and then proceeded to strip him off of the ridiculous wizarding garments, until he was naked, and tucked him under feathery light and warm covers.

But he didn't feel complete, not until Agon joined him, all warmth and silk and spice, his own personal dragon. He smiled in his dreams, feeling safe and loved.

Agon woke up in his bed, alone. Blinking stupidly, he slowly recounted the happenings of the previous evening… or morning? Ah, fuck, to hell with the time zones, anyway. What was important, was that his kitten was away somewhere. Agon growled. That was unacceptable.

Until his nose alerted him to the delicious aroma of spiced rice and chunks of fish, marinated in sweet – sour sauce. He couldn't help but salivate. Harry was _GOD_ of cooking, no doubt!

And there he went, with a gentle smile on his lips, carrying the tray with deliciously smelling food, along with Agon's favorite drink, chilled vodka with bitter lemon added. Actually, it was Harry that hooked Agon on the stuff.

Agon grunted, but smiled back. "Thanks," he told the petite man quietly. "Care to join me?" He saw Harry about to protest, but somehow, Harry changed his mind and sidled to Agon, clad only in Agon's loose purple boxers.

They ate together, occasionally feeding each other, as the sun was slowly setting into the ocean.

Before long, the meal was finished, and Harry cuddled into Agon once again.

"Kitten?" Agon prompted. Harry grunted. "What?" He growled out, annoyed that Agon interrupted the silence.

"Do you…" Agon hesitated. Harry finished it for him. "Regret it?"

Agon nodded mutely.

Harry was scarily perceptive, especially with Agon. At first, it annoyed Agon something fierce. But when they became friends, it only amused, and occasionally, irked him.

Harry knew him too damn well, better than anyone else, even Hiruma. Sometimes, it was a plus. But since they had been together, it also frustrated Agon to no end.

Harry owned him, but Agon didn't own Harry. Not that he wouldn't dare to. Just-… Harry never did tell him the L word…not ever. But to be honest, he didn't speak it out, either.

However, after that… fiasco… he was unsure. He had forced Harry to come clean with the shit that bitch had attempted to trap him into.

Surprisingly, Harry was quiet when Agon retold the entire thing, and Agon didn't like how the petite man's eyes dulled.

He felt Harry sigh. "Partly, yeah. Not for me, but more for them. If I hadn't – "

"Oh _no,_ you don't." Agon interrupted. Him, gay eyes narrowing dangerously. "It wasn't your fault. _None _of it was your fault. If they want to be stupid, let them be. "Harry eyed him half – irritated and half – thankfully. " "Uh… Thanks. "He grunted out. "But even so, I still feel guilty. " Agon rolled his eyes, exasperated, making Harry chuckle feebly at his gesture.

The sunset was magnificent, gold mixing in with oranges, red and violets, and steadily darkening blues of the sky.

Agon inhaled. It was all or nothing. "Kitten?" He inquired.

"What, dragon?" Agon smiled at Harry's nickname for him. Harry was close – mouthed as why he called Agon that, but he hinted that it had nothing to do with Agon's tattoo. "I want to… ask you something." Agon gulped. "Green eyes slanted up to him, as Harry quirked an eyebrow."You just did. But I am feeling generous, so ask away. "Agon chuckled at Harry's snarky attitude. Anyone else, and he would have thrashed them for their impudence. But not Harry. Never his Harry. Never his beautiful kitten.

"Harry, I never want to let you go. So… Be mine?" Harry gawped, dumbfounded. Finally he found his with about him. "Agon, I – I – " Agon lightly cuffed his head. "Just say yes or no, dumbass," His voice grew harsher, but Harry still smiled. "Only if you'll be mine. I… Love you, Agon."

He was sure he was red as a lobster, and made a move to hide his face into Agon's chest – but Agon stopped him.

Agon couldn't help but smile, and then grin silly at Harry's confession. Harry scowled at his expression, but Agon could easily discern the relief in those bejeweled green eyes he had fallen in love with. "Don't expect me to pump your ego so frequently," Harry threatened him in an embarrassed growl. Agon nodded, chuckling lightly. "I wouldn't dream of it, Kitten," He drawled out. "You are mine now, anyway. Love you too," he added, cheeks blushing.

Harry beamed and rewarded Agon with a small kiss. "My dragon, "He breathed out in bemusement.

Agon quirked an eyebrow. "Why do you call me dragon?" Harry smiled. Because you remind me of them. Majestic, possessive, violent, grouchy, faithful… and one of a kind." Agon made an aggrieved noise. "Stop the sap before I melt!"

Harry's laughter at Agon's expense was cut short as Agon kissed him stupid. Not that he minded, anyway.

_**/OWARI/END/**_


	3. When You Are Gone

_**When You Are Gone **_

**Disclaimer: **The characters used in this story are not mine; they are rightful property of their owners. Those who own _Naruto_ and _Harry Potter__,_ to be exact. Oh, and the song is _When You Are Gone_, by Avril Lavigne.

**Warnings:** This is** SLASH -** so all those curious munchinks who don't like** boy/boy **pairings, paws off, and go away! This is your only warning, got it! It's also not strictly chronologically perfect, so you may be confused. The characters are also OOC.

**Shout Out: **As I SAID, people, the Scrapbook Jewels will contain one shots which one day may, or may not, be evolved into full stories. Until then, each and every one shot is fully concluded. So when you are reading any chapter, the said chapter doesn't link onto the next, story – wise. If I DO decide to write a sequel, I will tag it appropriately, so read the AN's.

**Summary: **Madara and Izuna were brothers.... but to Madara, Izuna was more than his brother. But Izuna is dead... and Madara wants him back. Who will mend Madara's broken heart? SLASH, faint Madara/Izuna, Madara/Harry

* * *

There was darkness, and then, there was light. The dark – haired man was always watching the silent transit between the two, no matter if it was dusk or dawn. It was his ritual, and everyone knew better than to disturb him at these times, no matter the emergency. Well, everyone but one person, that is.

* * *

_I always needed time on my own  
I never thought I'd need you there when I cry  
And the days feel like years when I'm alone  
And the bed where you lie is made up on your side_

_

* * *

_The world was slowly slipping into the light, shadows dancing precariously at the edges of the trees and grass, swaying with the morning breeze ever so slightly, dancing with their counterparts ever so slowly, giving up their dominance sometimes, sometimes winning, but mostly overlapping with the tiny shards of light.

Empty red eyes watched the sinuous dance, their owner being keenly aware of his surroundings, and even more aware of the empty place at his side.

He... was _alone._ Not that he hadn't been before, but now, it was final, the last proverbial nail in the coffin, so to speak.

He had always been alone, no matter what. He was stronger than his peers, better, faster, deadlier... he got respect and awe, and women sought his company, but he was aloof, quiet and unapproachable, like the morning dew. He snorted at the analogy. It wasn't his, but his brother's.

_Izuna..._

He exhaled a heavy sigh.

He still couldn't believe. His kind, gentle brother, his link....

His red eyes were itching him uncomfortably for a while now, as if someone had thrown in his face a tear gas.

He knew, his brother's illness was getting stronger, he knew it, and he was helpless to do anything but watch.

* * *

_When you walk away I count the steps that you take  
Do you see how much I need you right now_

_

* * *

_He remembered Izuna looking at him, a small smile on his face, before he nodded and turned, walking away, to prepare for the mission... which would be, unknowingly to him, his last one.

Even if he was a pillar of strength for his clansmen, Izuna was always his support, with his strength and unwavering trust.

They didn't need many words. Even if they talked, it was mostly Izuna, his calm, light voice brightening his day, his wisdom leading him – even if the council viewed Izuna as a lesser brother, if not for other, it was because he was second – born – Madara always listened to his brother's words whenever he had a problem or clan dispute to solve. Madara wasn't a people person. Sure, he knew how to ... ahem, work with them -_ cough_ – order and manipulate - _cough _– but he lacked the finesse that made people willingly follow him, the charisma and understanding which Izuna had in abundance, but rarely shown, saying he wasn't a leader type, anyway.

But now, he was gone.

* * *

_When you're gone  
The pieces of my heart are missing you_

_

* * *

_His heart was missing now, and he would've given those accursed eyes back in a heartbeat, if only his brother would be back, laughing, and whole, and _alive_...

A fist slammed into the ground, while Madara growled a furious growl. Usually impassive, Madara was now at his wits' ends, feeling like a fraying piece of a cloth, unravelling swiftly, with no one to put the pieces back.

And what hurt the most, the one, who could, who would put those piece back, was now gone, gone, gone, never to return, gone, and Madara_ couldn't follow!_

A strangled sound clawed itself out of his throat, which he belatedly recognized as a choked sob.

"You _bastard...._ You _fucking _bastard. _Why _didn't you tell me... Why, why, _WHY!?" _

He roared out, suddenly furious with him.

The fingers dug into the damp soil, their owner uncaring of the slight pain when the nails were being shredded off with the pressure they were being clawed into the ground with.

It was a minor pain, anyway, an annoyance with the comparison with the pain that clutched at his heart.

* * *

_When you're gone  
The face I came to know is missing too  
When you're gone_

_

* * *

_Black spun within red, the tomoes blurring and speeding up and –

Madara winced when his skull was hit with the mother of all headaches. Stubbornly, he kept his eyes open, fighting the nausea the blurring mess caused.

If Izuna were here, Madara would cheerfully strangle him, if only to alleviate the sensation, which was all the fault of this son of a bitch, too.

His stomach recoiled wildly, and combined with his grief and monstrous migraine....

He made an odd sound, a cross between whimper, groan and sob, distantly relieved no one was witness to his shameful eruption of emotions.

* * *

_The words I need to hear to always get me through the day and make it ok  
...I miss you_

_

* * *

_He missed him, missed Izuna terribly, even if _it_ was barely six hours since his little brother had died.

He winced, an only outward sign of pain that was currently weaving through his brain. His sightless eyes were unfocused, as he remembered....

* * *

_I've never felt this way before  
Everything that I do reminds me of you_

_

* * *

_They were having a breakfast, steamed rice with grilled fish. It was a simple meal, and ten year old Madara was annoyed. Not that he showed it, what with their parents there. He looked down, contemplating where he could get more fish, when he saw a nice, fat chunk on his plate. His eyes minutely widened, as he looked up and to Izuna, who winked and gave him a small smile.

Madara's annoyance disappeared at his little brother's thoughtful action as he dug into the breakfast. Mentally, he made a note to teach Izuna _Kairyuu Endan. _Smiling inwardly as he thought of Izuna's reaction. For some reason, Izuna absolutely adored dragons, and he already had down _Doryuuheki_ version, much to the Uchiha's aggravation.

He couldn't wait to the end of the breakfast.

* * *

_And the clothes you left, they lie on the floor  
And they smell just like you, I love the things that you do_

* * *

They had the luck of finding the hot spring. Madara was relieved, as he didn't relished being dirty any longer, even if it was because of a mission.

Dark eyes widened, as he spotted the clothes being strewn on the damp ground.

He wanted to face palm.

His little brother was _so_ careless sometimes.

"Izuna..." He groaned exasperatedly.

He quickly undressed himself, before collecting both his clothes and Izuna's.

He inhaled, and he was hit with the scent of sweat and blood and something uniquely Izuna.

It was a bittersweet scent, gently stinging his olfactory nerves.

He didn't know why, but Izuna's scent reminded him of white lilies.

* * *

_When you walk away I count the steps that you take  
Do you see how much I need you right now_

_

* * *

_He looked at the retreating back of his brother, who was stalking away angrily. His cheek still throbbed from the punch Izuna 'gifted' him with.

Izuna was, unlike most of the Uchihas, a peacemaker. And he really didn't appreciate his brother getting into the brawl with one Senju Tobirama. Madara scowled as he lifted his hand and wincing, he gently massaged his cheek. Why couldn't his little brother see that Senju clan was a bad news?

And somehow, his heart was at loss. Stubborn ass as he was, Madara ignored the feeling.

Besides, Izuna had a mean right hook.

* * *

_When you're gone  
The pieces of my heart are missing you_

_

* * *

_Madara choked with suppressed feelings. If only he wasn't so stubborn and followed Izuna... If only he would have talked with his brother about his fears....

He gulped down a bitter ball of regret and guilt.

* * *

_When you're gone  
The face I came to know is missing too_

_

* * *

_And the next day, Izuna was gone, on a mission, and Madara had been in a snit for a whole week, until the message came... his brother was poisoned and unable to move.

This day had been the worst one, aside from the day... or was it night - of Izuna's death.

* * *

_When you're gone  
The words I need to hear to always get me through the day and make it ok  
I miss you_

_

* * *

_The week Izuna was on that fateful mission, Madara had been a right foul beast. Even the council of elders left him alone, not wanting to risk his wrath. The only one, who actually approached him, was Senju Hachirama, the elder brother of that punk, Tobirama.

Madara had to admit the resulting spar was good for his soul, as it took his worries off from how Izuna was doing, but that still didn't mean he liked Senju clan any more than he had before.

And he still had unfinished business with that Tobirama brat.

_

* * *

__We were made for each other  
Out here forever  
I know we were, yeah_

_

* * *

_Madara was furious. He didn't want Izuna to go out with... with that _chit!_

He had just came from his sparring session with some of the older cousins, when he saw his little brother, blushing and fidgeting, clad in his best kimono and a lily flower in his hand.

"Izuna..." His voice was cold, like it usually was. Izuna turned his head to him, dark, gentle eyes looking up. "Madara." He greeted simply.

"Why are you stuffed into...it?" Madara asked his voice quiet. Too quiet. Izuna either didn't notice or just plain disregarded the undertone that would send any sane person running... away from the pissed Uchiha.

"It's the summer festival, duh," Izuna answered incredulously. Madara barely repressed a scowl. "You don't like festivals," He pointed out with all the maturity of the twelve year old.

To his surprise and irritation, Izuna blushed. "Maybe I do." He defended, lower lip sticking up petulantly. Seeing Madara's disbelieving glare, he sighed a put – upon sigh. "I want to have fun and – " he blushed, fidgeting with the lily flower in his small hands.

Madara growled. That flower, for some reason, irritated him terribly. "And why do you have a flower?" He asked, barely restraining himself from doing something...stupid. He crossed his arms on the chest as he had seen their father do, whenever he was pissed.

Izuna was past blushing like a cherry blossom (pink), and quickly approached the colours of a ripe cherry (red). "It's none of your fucking business," He retorted sharply.

"Izuna!" Their mother rebuked him, making Madara strangely satisfied, and mortifying Izuna.

"But mother!" Izuna whined, much to his parents' amusement.

Izuna bit his lower lip. "Kotoko – chan." He mumbled out. He looked into his elder brother's eyes bravely. "It's for Kotoko – chan."

Madara saw red.

* * *

Suffice to say, both of them were grounded that day, Madara for attacking his brother – he wouldn't tell why – and Izuna for retaliating with force.

Despite his numerous scrapes, bumps and a broken hand, along with getting two weeks of fishing duty – he detested that particular task with passion – Madara was satisfied to keep Izuna for himself just a little bit longer.

And nobody knew that, but the broken pieces of lily flower were carefully dried and put into a small black pouch Madara tied with a string around his neck and wore under his armour.

Izuna didn't forgive him for a long, long time.

Still, since that time, they went to all summer festivals together, and they spent the night looking at the fireworks.

* * *

_All I ever wanted was for you to know  
Everything I'd do, I'd give my heart and soul  
I can hardly breathe I need to feel you here with me, yeah_

_

* * *

_Madara's eyes darkened steadily, and the only light he had, was his brother, Izuna. Their parents were dead for seven years already, and they had only each other.

Madara had worked diligently, to ensure their clan's and mostly Izuna's safety. Especially Izuna's – it pained him that his little brother was dying bit by bit in front of his eyes – the illness from the poison from his last mission plagued Izuna's body like a ravenous beast which sadistically took it's time to systematically destroy the chakra pathways in his little brother's body.

And then, Madara's eyes shut down, and Izuna, good soul he was, offered his own eyes to his brother. Madara refused, but Izuna managed to persuade him – how, even Madara wasn't sure.

* * *

The operation was long, tedious and painful beyond anything Madara had ever experienced. Through it all, the brothers held their hands, anchors to each other through the waves of pain.

The operation was successful, but Madara was still feeling guilty. The guilt increased when he found out that Izuna's health was taking a plunge – apparently, the shock of removing the eyes was too much for the already frail body, and it was slowly, but steadily shutting down.

Izuna reassured him he was alright, but Madara's sensitive ears caught the muffled hacking and coughing Izuna failed to cover.

A week after the operation, it was finally deemed safe to remove bandages from Madara's eyes.

* * *

He vividly remembered this day.

He was in a darkened room, in case his new eyes – he couldn't bring him to think them of as Izuna's – were overly sensitive. The operation had been difficult enough, but couple that with the fact it had been first attempted transplantation of majorly chakra sensitive organs, and you got the unknown outcome.

He still remembered the feel of the bandages when they were brushed off of his face, the damp warmth of the cloth his face was cleaned with, and then the strange itchy feeling which he identified as a healing chakra, to jumpstart the nerves.

The operation was deemed as a success.

Madara could see again.

The first thing he had done was to visit Izuna... despite the healers' protests.

He was greeted with a shadow of his brother.

Even before, Izuna was weakened by the poison, but now, he was positively emaciated. Pale as a ghost, he had bandages over his empty eye socks, and thin, far too thin.

Only his smile was the same, this gentle smile that made Madara want to steal him from the world and keep him for himself, and never let him go.

Gulping, he had kneeled into the traditional_ seiza_ position, taking the thin, pale hand into his stronger, filled with life, ones.

They spent the summer days together, however much Madara's obligations allowed. Madara often bought him outside, to their secret little point, describing the colours and shapes, talking about new clans and their abilities, but mostly, they were silent.

Izuna's health seemed to take turn to the better, and Madara's guilt eased off a bit.

But then, it crashed down.

It was so sudden they were completely unprepared.

And three days later, Izuna was dead.

* * *

_When you're gone  
The pieces of my heart are missing you_

_

* * *

_Madara choked. The big, fat lump in his throat wasn't going anywhere, however many times he tried to gulp him down.

Izuna was _dead._

And to add the salt to injury, he had the gall to die when he, Madara wasn't there!

Stupid, idiotic, noble little brother...

He was tired, and he had gone to take a short nap, right after he had checked on Izuna.

Izuna was feeling well – he had been a little under weather, but otherwise okay.

When Madara woke up, it was already evening, and he made a beeline toward Izuna's room.

And froze.

The servants were tidying up, and the medic was looking tired – too tired to be normal.

And the last thing was that sweet, cloying scent of death, mixed with antiseptic, soap and warm summer breeze.

"I'm sorry, Madara-sama. Izuna-sama has passed on."

Those words would haunt him his entire life.

* * *

"When did he die?" His voice was too in control to betray the utmost shock and devastation he felt at the final... betrayal.

"Half an hour ago – we couldn't do anything. He died in his sleep, peacefully."

Madara didn't hear him.

If he had been here, just half an hour before –

The Sharingan activated. "Don't bother us."

With that curtly voiced command, the Uchiha clan head strode into the small room that served as Izuna's bedroom.

This... This was not Izuna.

This body was a shell of his beloved little brother, an emaciated, weak flesh , so hollow and empty, like a parody of a weird sculpture, that mocked all that Izuna represented.

Izuna's kindness, love of life, how he liked to watch the stars and his determination, his sometimes naive belief in the goodness of the world, his determination and _Big Head No Jutsu, _how he was so easily embarrared over the littlest of things, his protectiveness over the children...

No, this body didn't have anything that resembled Izuna. It didn't have his mischievous streak, or his wisdom, it didn't house his beautiful soul, it was a wonder how had something so ugly held in itself something so beautiful as Izuna's soul had been.

As a shinobi, Madara looked on death stoically – it was something that permanently stopped his enemies from harming either him or his clan. Even when their parents died, Madara was able to keep his bearings together, unlike his little brother.

When almost third of Uchiha clan was slaughtered because of that damned fox, Madara had been pissed, but not because he had any strong emotional ties, but because the beast dared to attack his clan, the Uchihas and managed to cause them significant amount of damage, thus rendering them weak in the eyes of their enemies.

He had seen the different faces of death, some peaceful, some downright ugly – but this one was the one that was bothering him the most.

Izuna shouldn't have died.

Not for him. Izuna was too young. Izuna shouldn't have been poisoned on that miserable excuse of a mission, either, but it happened.

Since that moment, -

Madara kneeled into the seiza position beside his brother's body, taking the cool, dead hand in his warm, full of life ones –

Madara decided he hated death.

* * *

_When you're gone  
The face I came to know is missing too_

_

* * *

_It was... too late. Too late for Madara to tell Izuna his secret, too late to turn time back, too late for many, many things –

Madara sobbed, tears of blood sliding down his pale cheeks, as his eyes – Izuna's eyes – looked out into the world, spinning and whirling, the later famed and cursed _Magenkyo Sharingan _had been born.

He could have, should have, would have... _told_ him, _told_ Izuna, but he had been too afraid; he had been too big of a stickler for rules, too big of a coward to take his beloved and tell him, that he loved him, not only as a brother, but as a lover.

A bloody, dirty hand grabbed the treasured pouch with the remains of the white lily, a mocking memory of what could have been, if he had been a little more stronger, a little bit braver –

But he had nothing, just the eyes, Izuna's eyes, his brother's eyes, his fated and missed lover's eyes and small brown pouch, full of memories.

* * *

_When you're gone  
The words I need to hear to always get me through the day and make it ok  
I miss you_

_

* * *

_The funeral was simple. Madara didn't allow anyone to bury Izuna's body – he took it and burned it with the black flames, until nothing remained, just the flames, darker than night.

* * *

He was tired – too bloody tired, but the promise, of having Izuna again, or at least making Izuna's dreams come true, propelled him forward.

Until one day, one single day that changed it all.

* * *

Green eyes looked into red ones, tired, exhausted and weary, but still defiant. One Harry Potter was definitely _NOT _amused.

"Who the fuck are you and why the hell did you summon me?" He growled out, unmindful of the fact he was naked as a newborn baby and that it wasn't the brightest idea to aggravate someone that could kill you in a second.

One second he was on the battlefield, just triumphing over the Dark Lord Scaldywart, and the next, he was tugged through the straw/meat grinder to meet someone who didn't even have a courtesy to allow him to rest!

The man just stared at him, too shocked to say anything, if the wide red eyes with weird spinning wheelies inside were any indication.

The man approached him hesitantly, making Harry wary a little bit, but his irritation overcame his good sense and he stalked – more like staggered – toward the fucking idiot that would pay for his stunt – just as soon as Harry would get his bearings back... oh, and a small nap, and some piping hot bath wouldn't be amiss....

* * *

Madara stared at the naked, irritated body in the middle of the summoning circle. It was obviously a young man, with dark, messy hair and the greenest eyes he had ever seen.

But it wasn't the colour of the eyes that mesmerized Madara so. It was the spirit behind them, the same spirit his little brother once had.

The young man growled at him something distinctly unflattering, and in foreign language, but Madara was still too shocked. The youth arose, and staggered toward him – bruised, bleeding and some bones were definitely broken – Madara noted absently - but the youth was more than enough pissed to disregard everything except of his... 'summoner'.

Only one sound escaped past Madara's lips.

"_I – Izuna?"_

_**/End/Owari/**_

_**

* * *

  
**_


	4. Crimson Sagittarius

_CRIMSON SAGITTARIUS_

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_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own Bleach, nor do I own Harry Potter. _Capisce?_

_**Summary:**_ »Beware of the Crimson Sagittarius.« The warning was given. The words were heeded. But who – or what, was the Crimson Sagittarius?

_**Warnings:**_ Mentions of abuse, AU – world as far as it could be, and very, very confusing little story.

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**Chapter one**

Nobody could say that Ryuuken Ishida was a compassionate man. Well, Ryuuken was a …. Good father? Not quite. Good son? Er…. Again, he wasn't very son – ish to his father and Uryuu's grandfather, Soken Ishida.

It irked Ryuuken something fierce, that his own son called him by name, and not his title, as it would have been more appropriate. Still, he could stomach it. He could stomach Kurosaki's ridiculous behavior, and Uryuu's peevies with him weren't worth anything, in comparison, with the goofy ex – captain dramatics.

He was… the last Quincy? Definitely… he didn't count Uryuu to be worth his salt, while it came to be a Hollow - slayer, what with his mellow ideals about working with Shinigami.

Of course, that had changed with Soken being slayed by a Hollow and the witnessing Shinigami doing nothing to stop the foul wretches. Since then, Uryuu was even more close mouthed, and he was definitely colder to any people that tried to get him out of his self – imposed shell. Ryuuken should be happy; his son finally saw that Shinigamis were worthless idiots that used their powers only for their gain.

Ryuuken was perfectionist. While he saw the benefits in having _Reiryoku _at his disposal, he was disappointed it didn't benefit him directly otherwise than saving already dead people. Because of that viewpoint, he had become the doctor – it was better to save live people than the dead ones. The Shinigamis took the care of the dead ones anyway, so his conscience wasn't troubled much…

But killing of Soken was the last straw – Ryuuken handed over the mantle of hospital primary to the Kurosaki idiot Isshin, and packing their belongings, he left Japan for England.

To say it bluntly, Ryuuken Ishida was a cold – blooded individual; calculating, scarily intelligent, a prodigy … but he sure as hell didn't approve of abuse.

Icy blue eyes narrowed as he watched the walrus – like male berate the tiny child, roaring at him to make himself useful and get to the work, while the man's son…. A small beach whale – like child – Ryuuken was wondering how it was the blonde nuisance didn't keel over yet, what with it's obesity and unhealthy food the spoiled brat was right now stuffing down his throat.

Ryuuken watched with horrified fascination, how the fat duo thudded away into the superstore, no doubt for the walrus – like man to spoil his darling son something horrible… again.

The icy eyes turned to the small waif – like child that was struggling to hold up the bag, filled to the brim with groceries and other stuff. Thin lips tightened at the sight of the child's clothes – no doubt, they were the castoffs from the blonde kid whale. It didn't help that the small one was shivering in the afternoon cold – the winter was coming quickly, and in England, the autumn evenings were notoriously cold and damp.

He wasn't compassionate man. He didn't do mercy. But somehow, the sight of that particular child, shivering in front of the superstore, while waiting for the two obese idiots, kicked him into the moving towards the pitiful creature.

* * *

"What are you doing here?" he asked the kid gruffly. Meanwhile, he was eyeing the waif critically – short, messy black hair, skin pale, almost unhealthily so, the frame even thinner than before he had glimpsed him, and trembling arms, clutching the overfilled bag to the small body desperately trying not to let it slip on the ground.

The child looked up. And Ryuuken was gifted with the sight of the greenest eyes he had ever seen.

His sharp inhale made the child wince. "I – I'm sorry Sir, I am waiting for my relatives…" the child spoke softly, as if afraid he would be punished if his voice would be too loud. "I will move right away, Sir…" Ryuuken moved "No!" his sharp voice made child flinch even more. Something clenched in his gut, and it was not a pleasant feeling. "I – I mean you no harm, child," he continued gruffly. He raked his right hand through his hair, for once frustrated how to make the child see he had mean no harm to him. Then he blinked.

Those eyes… were unfocused.

Oh…. Of course…

"Kid… is your sight blurry?" he asked the little one, his voice soft – or, as soft as he could make it.

His eyes widened as the child nodded shyly. Ryuuken growled mentally at those shit sacks of fat that didn't have even so much of decency as to buy the child glasses to help him with his eyesight!

"Mister?" the small voice dragged him out of his stewing about the injustice of the world. "Are you alright, Mister?" He looked back at the kid, who was looking at him concernedly, albeit a little bit unfocused. Ryuuken had to suppress his violent temper from erupting… badly.

"Hn," he grunted. "Don't worry about me."

"But…" the child cringed. "You seem mad, Sir. Did I do something wrong?" the timid voice was like a bucketful of freezing cold water to the white-haired man.

"No, you didn't child. Tell me, where are your relatives?" He managed to force out calmly…. Or at least as calmly as he could.

Green eyes lowered, the child hung his head. "I'm waiting for them. Uncle Vernon and cousin Dudley, I mean."

Ryuuken stilled. "You don't have parents?"

He queried, his voice shaky. At a miserable nod of the green – eyes waif, he knew, that something was wrong. Very, very wrong.


	5. Dancing With Devil

_DANCING WITH DEVIL_

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_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own Harry Potter or Eyeshield 21. _/scowls/,_ but I DO own the OOC quirks of characters. /_leers/_

_**Summary:**_ AU - Harry Potter wasn't a lone child of Lily Evans-Potter. Enter one Hiruma Youichi, Harry's half-brother, who is insanely possessive over the green-eyed chibi and has a terrifying brother complex. Voldemort won't know what hit him.

_**Shout Out:**_ Gee…/_sweatdrops_/. This is still in an experimental stage, but that bunny just HAD to be written out. If I decide to get that into real story, it will be a madhouse. _/grins/. _Anyway, enjoy!

_**Warnings:**_ AU all the way, appearance of Hiruma, and did we mention rather scary brother complex? And our adored and revered Hell Commander finally finds out what love is…upside down, as usual. Of course, the timeline is somewhat screwed, too, but never mind about that.

* * *

It was crazy. It was unreasonable. It was a… _hunch._

Since Harry had found out about his family, something nagged at him.

"You're just like James," Remus told him. "You have your Mother's eyes," McGonagall remarked at his green eyes. "The Dursleys are your only remaining family," Dumbledore informed him regretfully, when he inquired about other relations. The green-eyed wizard listened to them. He believed them, but… he didn't want to.

'_Am I really alone?'_ He questioned himself, as he lad in his bed, quietly staring at the red and gold canopy. _ 'Isn't there someone, anyone else than Dursleys to take me in?'_

Something was nagging at him, prodding him to dig deeper… but how?

He always had an inordinate amount of luck - _Devil's luck_, some people proclaimed. Mostly, people attributed his trouble-attraction to some or other obscure Potter curse, but it baffled them just how the young Potter managed to worm his way out of situations any ordinary man would've died a thousand times over.

And… he wasn't so similar to James Potter, either. His messy hair was more spiky than curly, although it was still black. His green eyes were the same, but slightly narrow, like those of someone with small amount of Japanese blood in their veins… and lastly, Harry began to suspect that his height was not entirely a byproduct of malnutrition… the potions took care of that.

And of course… his mind. Lately, it was as if someone had lifted a proverbial veil from it, and Harry found out that he had easier comprehension of subjects he otherwise found rather hard to understand.

Green eyes narrowing, he glared at the innocent fabric. Something didn't add up there, and he intended to find out just what it was.

* * *

He stared at the pergament, flabbergasted. It was the third time that his life was turned around so completely.

There, it wrote, black on white, in neat little letters:

_**Lily Marie Evans **_(mother - Deceased) – _**Seiichi Hiruma**_(father - Unknown) =_**Youichi Hiruma**_ (Half brother) – **Alive**

He had a half brother.

Hot damn.

* * *

Next few days, he spent in a daze, barely believing he had another relative, and a half-brother at that!

He was elated about his discovery, but on the other side, he was a little angry and mutinous. Why didn't anyone tell him about his half – brother? And why did everyone held him in a belief of being the only child of Lily Potter?

His Gryffindor side was rip-roaring angry – until his Slytherin side whacked it with a clue bus. If nobody knew about… this, then that meant Lily kept it a secret from everyone; for what reason, he knew not. But something was clear – Dumbledore's little mumbo-jumbo about protection just lost its' credibility.

Harry grinned a shark grin as he whipped out a ballpoint pen and some paper and set out to write a letter to his dearest,_ beloved_ big brother.

* * *

For the first time in his life, Hiruma was truly stumped. There, in his hand, he held a letter that proclaimed he had a half-brother, and the said half-brother would like to get to know him.

In that moment, he was grateful he was in his apartment, safe from prying eyes – it wouldn't bode well if he were to be caught gaping like a brainless guppy, even if the received information was startling. He eyed Kerberos – who seemed to … talk with the feathered menace – Hedwig, was it? He blinked, did Kerberos just…. Gave the damn owl a portion of his jerky? Well… he did. And the feathered annoyance accepted the offering primly, like it was an everyday occurrence.

Slowly, his lips stretched into amused and rather terrifying grin. Whoever was the owner of the hellish bird menace that could pursue the hellhound to give away its' precious jerky, was worthy of getting to know more about.

* * *

Green eyes widened with delight as he saw familiar white shadow flying to him. When Hedwig landed, Harry noticed she was a tad worse to wear, but she was still in one piece. And to his satisfaction, she also carried a letter.

"Harry, whose letter is that?" The buck-toothed girl asked him curiously. Harry blinked. For a moment, he had forgotten where he was. Well, Great Hall wasn't very private place after all; especially at mornings.

He sighed. "It's personal, Hermione," He answered simply. When he saw her opening her mouth, he interrupted. »And it's from a friend I got to know last summer, so relax. » Hermione nodded petulantly, but she perked up soon. "Are they witch or wizard? Do they go to Wizarding School? Can I – "

Harry sighed.. "Hermione!" He rebuked her, exasperated. The witch blushed slightly. Meanwhile, Harry relieved Hedwig of her letter, giving her a generous helping of bacon for reward, disregarding Ron's longing stare at the mentioned food. "Yes, he is a wizard. Yes, he goes to school and NO; you may not see or read the contents of the letter."

"But Harry!" Hermione whined, pouting. Harry snorted at her attempt at using puppy eyes. Usually, he would've caved in, but not this time. He eyed her drolly. "Suck it up, Hermione. It's private, meaning for my eyes only. And I _am _allowed having friends outside Hogwarts." And with that the debate was concluded.

Harry's first impression of his brother was… he cussed _way_ too much. Hiruma was older than Harry – he knew that already – he lived in Japan, by himself – okay, that was new, _NOT;_ he loved playing American Football – Harry could relate to this – and he demanded to know what the fuck was going on, finding out about his little brother only now – oh, and there were some very nicely wrapped threats if this was a joke. Harry snorted. He liked this Hiruma already.

* * *

The next post, Hiruma discovered, arrived ridiculously soon. And it was very enlightening, too. He had received some photos – on on first one, there was a woman with fiery red hair and green eyes – the same woman his father had on some of his photos – or at least those he managed to scrounge off of him. Whenever his father looked at the pictures of this woman, he got a sad glint in his eyes, and Hiruma finally knew why. Second photo was of the same woman, but with messy-haired man and a bundle of joy in her arms, and the last one was of a shrimpy twerp with wild black hair, green eyes and bottle glasses perched on his face. Hiruma twitched. He grabbed a ballpoint pen and began to write.

And he would deny – to his dying day and beyond – that he was an overprotective big brother.

Really.

* * *

Harry winced. It was a wonder the paper hadn't ignited yet, what with the amount of cuss words being written on it. Hiruma thoroughly berated him for his stupidity – fucking dumbass -was only one of the loving endearments Hiruma gifted Harry with. Harry dreaded to imagine what would his big brother think, much less do, when he'd find out about his... adventures. For some reason, his brain conjured a picture of him being chased by machine-gun wielding, sharp – toothed blonde maniac in red and white jersey, while dodging the bullets said maniac was firing at him. He shuddered at the image and gulped, before continuing to read the letter.

* * *

The next letter nearly sent Hiruma packing for England, before he calmed down and rationally thought about the letter's contents. Harry had been injured in that stupid Quidditch match – and it could've been worse, from what Harry had described. Even so, his little brother was definitely a trouble magnet, which just firmed Hiruma's resolve to get to the damn brat as soon as possible. Something fishy was going on there, and Hiruma didn't like it!

* * *

The Dursleys expected this summer to pass quietly, with minimal problems form the freak, as they lovingly – not – termed their nephew.

Sadly, they didn't count on the… additional house guest, which came in all his spiky blonde – haired glory, cunning green eyes glinting, shark smile on his lips and him being a veritable moving and talking armory to boot. It was the first time since his childhood that Vernon Dursley didn't manage to deign not to bawl out in front of his neighbors.

Harry, on the other side, was in heaven.

Petunia Dursley was in Hell.

Dudley Dursley got a fill of his morning exercise, running from Kerberos.

* * *

The first time Hiruma had seen his half-brother live-in, his first thought was _'Not bad.'_ The shrimp was smaller than the fucking shrimp (Sena), which was a feat, but it was a good upgrade from that hideous photo. Harry's hair was sill messy as ever, and he was still a little too much on a thin side, but at least he got rid of those hideous bottle glasses in favor of thinner ones with square lenses. But most of all, Hiruma got lost in those deep emerald green eyes.

Not that he would tell that to the pipsqueak, anyway.

* * *

The first time Harry had seen his long lost brother, he was taken aback. He had imagined a typical Japanese – black hair, black eyes, polite to a fault and … well, ordinary. How wrong he was.

Hiruma Youichi was anything but. Spiky blonde hair, jade green eyes without pupils, cussed way too much, had sharp teeth to put Ripper to shame, and he was… pointy. Sharp. His face was sharp – all angles and his pointy ears would get any admirer of Star Trek in epic fangasms, so to speak; not to mention his earrings. He was taller than Harry by at least two heads; and thin. He spoke English flawlessly, with barely accented voice, and he was shamelessly loud. Oh, and let's not forget the blonde devil's obsession with American football, guns, sugarless gum and screwing with people's brains.

He was crazy, violent, loud-mouthed, cunning… and he was exactly what Harry needed at this point of time.

* * *

In the following days, the two brothers learned much about each other. Hiruma enjoyed outwitting and messing with people – and getting new slaves. Especially getting new slaves. Harry had a hero streak a mile wide. Both of them were nuts about their respective sports, though Hiruma still argued that football was better than Quidditch. Hiruma was a crazy whiz with electronics. Harry… not so much. To Hiruma's dismay, Harry was terrible at strategy; however Harry could be more than decent running back and receiver. Hiruma could lie with the best, and Harry was a very bad liar. Hiruma was cynical. Harry was still naïve.

At mornings, Hiruma couldn't function properly without having to drink at least two cups of strong black coffee. Harry detested that particular beverage and acted like a mother-en whenever he felt Hiruma was skipping his meals. And, disturbingly enough. Harry could always tell when he did. Without fail.

Hiruma was fascinated with the wizarding world, but also incensed that his baby brother was so poorly protected. The goblins were fun to haggle with, but wizarding folk lacked the common sense terribly.

He shook his head, disgusted. Idiots, the lot of them. It was a worrying thought that the fucking Headmaster, as he dubbed Dumbledore, was so revered and held so much power. Absolute power corrupts absolutely, and Hiruma detested the man's philosophy of _'Greater Good'_ fiercely. True, there were times when a man had to make sacrifices, but Dumbledore had overstepped his bounds too much for Hiruma's tastes. Harry's first year was proof of that. The second year only nailed the proverbial nail in the coffin. Dumbledore was manipulating Harry – the only question was, why? What would the old goat gain from that? According to Harry, Voldemort was afraid of the old coot. So why didn't said old coot off the little snake when he had a chance? What he knew they didn't?

Dread swept into Hiruma's bones as he came to the only available conclusion, Dumbledore was preparing a stage… and he intended to use Harry as a sacrificial lamb.

* * *

This summer was an exciting one for Harry. He got to know Hiruma, learned about firearms and how to use them; he also learned how to read people's intents and much to his chagrin, strategy. However, he had fun, too; Hiruma had taken him to the beach and taught him how to swim, and they also visited amusement park, and went to see a football match or two. For the first time in his life, Harry felt… normal.

* * *

Something was… amiss. There was this… energy between them; and it scared and excited Hiruma all the same. They had clicked so good, that Hiruma was left wondering just what the heck had happened. At first he had thought it was some case of reverse Stockholm syndrome, but he dismissed that thought quickly. Harry wasn't afraid of him. Sure, the runt was timid at the beginning, but that was understandable. It made Hiruma feel amused and exasperated at the same time, like watching a small kitten chase after a feather. Unknowingly to him, his affection became a little deeper each passing day, and Hiruma wasn't so sure he would like their separation. Looking at sleeping Harry, Hiruma sighed softly. The boy was asleep; dark hair tousled and soft breaths were even. Harry's cheeks were a little bit flushed, but Hiruma's attention was drawn to the pair of pink-colored lips. As if he were in a trance, he lifted his arm and traced their shape lightly, with softest, gentlest touch, with the barest tip of his finger.

He wanted to take him away, and hide his little brother far, far away from the world. Harry's innocence and naivety were endearing, and his bull-headedness was amusing, although a little bit irritating for Hiruma at times. Harry was very similar to the speedy shrimp back at home, and yet, if Hiruma had to choose between the two, he would chose Harry, and not only out of the familial obligation, either. Harry was his; he would be his even if they didn't meet under such strange circumstances. Even if they weren't related, Hiruma pondered, he would take Harry for himself.

Murmuring incoherently, the dark – haired boy snuggled deeper into Hiruma's body, making the blonde grit his teeth in delight and restraint. "You really like to walk on that thin line, don't you, brat?" Hiruma muttered to his precious burden fondly. Thin, but strong arms embraced the slight body a little bit tighter, while their owner rejoiced and bemoaned the contact between their bodies.

Something deep inside him purred a contented purr as he inhaled Harry's scent – so pure and carefree, and a little tainted with a hint of darkness. Sharp jade green eyes closed as the blond pondered the next step. Harry would be thirteen soon; and he was eighteen. No matter how he turned the case, it would be a cradle-robbing. Of course, he could wait for Harry to grow up a bit, but Hiruma found out that he didn't want to. Life was short and with Harry being in danger every year, he really didn't want to waste more time than he already had. And he understood why…. Why his old man chose…her. Exhaling a tired sigh, he made himself comfortable, before he was swallowed into the darkness.

**_/To be continued/_**


	6. Fire and Ice

_FIRE AND ICE_

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_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own _Harry Potter_ or _Kuroshitsuji (Black Butler)_ – they belong to their respective owners. But I do own the idea for this story and the story.

_**Summary:**_ He was tortured by the Dark side. The Light side betrayed him. Now he's back, but not alone. Watch out, Wizarding World, because two butlers from Hell are pissed. This is SLASH, don't like, don't read!

_**Shout Out:**_ Well, another one bites the dust – plot bunny, of course. This had been dragging around my brains for almost a week, and I just had to get it out. Hopefully I will write out some more for that story, particularly in a smut sense._ (grins),_ but we'll see.

_**Warnings:**_ Mentions of torture, mutilated bodies, stupid Wizarding World in general, and, oh, I don't know, **Slash,** meaning _**Sebastian/Harry (Antares)/Claude?**_ /_sarcastic/. _And, of course, a mild blood fetish from the butlers' side. (if you remeber Claude jizzing in his pants, you will know what I mean...)_  
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Cold green eyes looked at the two men in front of him dispassionately. Indeed, they were fine example of human species – or one would think so, when they were unaware of the duo's true nature.

Antares… was one of those unlucky few, who did. After all, you can't form a contract without knowing the contractor, can you?

Ah. A contract. Revenge. Pain. Humiliation. Loss. Repayment. One should never enter a contract with Devil – or, in Antares' case, two demons. For even if reward would be sweet, the payment would be dire – a soul for the demon to gobble it up at the conclusion of the contract. Even if he had been justified in his want of revenge, it still meant he would have to forfeit his soul to the two demon menaces that were masquerading as his butlers.

That wasn't to say they didn't do their work well. No; in fact, their work was superb, even to the House Elves' standards, and that was saying much, for the House Elves were born and bred for menial tasks – and they had magic to help them along. The two butlers… hadn't.

"What do you two want now?" he asked, exasperated. Usually mellow mocha coloured eyes flashed a demonic red. An unholy smirk appeared on those sinfully soft lips. "Why, Young Master, " One of them drawled out, as they stepped forward in unison,

"We want _you."_

* * *

They looked at their Prey, their Master, their Art. Antares was undoubtedly a fine example of his species – and yet, he boy was so much more. He had been shattered and remade – from angel to sinner, and what a delicious transformation that had been. The boy was ruthless to the core –cunning and ruthless, sparing no mercy for his enemies, and giving no attention to those fucking bitches that crowded him.

He was hot and cold – hotter than magma, and yet, colder than sub-zero temperatures of the coldest planes in existence. It was a unique trait, especially with Antares' ironclad control. In that aspect, they were reminded of a certain Phantomhive Earl – but he could just as vindictive as the fake Trancy noble. It seemed as if the fragile-looking white-haired teen got the best of their previous Masters and none of their faults.

This irked them. Half of the fun of toying with their prey came from poking at their prey's faults. Sebastian had loved to needle at Phantomhive's self-control, and Claude had been entertained mildly by Alois' attempts to seduce him. It was like playing a chess match that was perpetually set in a check position – despite the two demons' knowledge that the last move – the checkmate – would be theirs.

In addition, there was the issue with their prey's independence. Unlike Ciel or Alois, Antares was fully self – sufficient – he could clothe and wash himself, or cook for himself, and only his body's limitations - he was still weak from those months of Voldemort's 'hospitality' and then stay in Azkaban, that he even allowed them to tend to him. The mortal's stubborn streak both amused and irritated them; amused because it answered to their demonic natures, and watching prey struggle was always fun; and irritated because their abilities of so-called 'hell of a butlers' were called in question; it wasn't nice to have their abilities so subtly questioned and undermined.

* * *

It was cold, cruel, unusual and in their opinion, undeserved punishment. And because of their Master was unbelievable magnet for trouble – if they weren't so busy to keep the stubborn teen out of the said trouble, they would have throttled their Master many times; too many to count.

Nevertheless, it was fun.

They could kill, terrify, torture, and maim their… ahem, _victims,_ to their hearts' content, and what sweetened the deal even more, was the fact they were doing it for their Master.

Because those imbeciles dared to touch and hurt their Master, their Prey and precious jewel… the unfortunate fuckers suffered the greatest pain imaginable.

They prolonged the torture – wisps of whispers, red eyes and malevolent black smoke – for someone so refined and cultured, they were terrifying in their efficiency to cause hurt and pain – be that mental, physical or emotional.

The so-called Dark Lord had heard of their proficiency – how could he not – and attempted to recruit them into his inner circle. It was too bad for Voldemort they already had their Master – and said Master was not Voldemort. Even worse, Voldemort himself was on the top of their shit list for what had he done to Antares.

* * *

Antares blinked. "Me?" He parroted sardonically. He was lying in his bed, an old tome on his lap. It wasn't yet evening, but with Antares' condition, the teen spent most of the time away from the bumbling idiots called Order of the Phoenix. Oh, the Order – or more specifically, the two stooges – Granger and Weasley - tried to include him, while the youngest Weaselette was slobbering over his butlers – this time, it was Claude who was recipient of her amorous advances. Personally, Antares believed it was the glasses.

Not that Claude needed them, and Antares even told him he could get rid of them if he wanted to – Claude had perfect vision anyway – but Claude declined, citing personal reasons. And when they 'met' the Order, it came to bite him back in his ass. Antares hadn't had so much amusement since the butler duo's rather intense argument about sleeping arrangements.

* * *

But back to the present. They watched him hungrily, as if he was a prime steak and they were ravenous for some sustenance. Arching an eyebrow, he mentally admitted that it wasn't so bad of an comparison; hell, they did have a fetish with his blood. Even if he only nicked his finger, one or another appeared from the shadows, and licked the small cut up, their eyes changing their colour form normal shade to the one of the dark red current of lava. And because that happened often – him bleeding, because his skin was riddled with half –healed scars that had to be healed mundane way, the two demons had a veritable feast every time one of the wounds tore open and the blood trickled out. Thankfully, the scars healed to the degree he wasn't a bleeding sack of meat and bones anymore. Unfortunately, they developed a fetish with his blood, and there hadn't been an evening the two of them didn't demand a small snack – it was only a small mouthful at best, so this particular habit didn't bother Antares much, but he was, more often than not, disturbed by their reactions.

Their reactions were, in the beginning, very mild ones. Some dilated pupils and red eyes, and that was it. He didn't care about that, because he was too catatonic to care about anything that dealing with his day to day needs and plotting revenge. There had been much to do – getting cash, establishing his new identity, finding new residence and checking the state of affairs in Wizarding World. Although his butlers did most of the work, they were only the pawns, and he was still the Master that moved them on the chessboard. Therefore, at the end of the day, he barely had enough of strength to drink some herbal tea, allow his butlers to clean and clothe him, and then, collapse into the bed.

Lately, that wasn't the case. He was well on road to the recovery – he wouldn't recover totally, that was given, because injuries were just too extensive and in some cases, old, but he could function well enough to not need help every five minutes, much to his butlers' silent chagrin.

And lately, he began to notice his butlers'... unusual behaviour. They were possessive of him, that was a given. The Weasley Matriarch couldn't even come near him in her misguided attempts to mother him, before she was stopped by either Sebastian or Claude. However, when they decided to get into pissy contest with Lupin and his father, Sirius Black, then it became interesting. Snape was clever enough to avoid the butler duo in a wide arc, but the two mutts insisted. While Sebastian was entertained for a while. Claude was not amused.

The result was extensive use of golden cutlery as weaponry, and Sirius found himself in a cocoon of spider silk that was abnormally strong, hanging by a thread from the ceiling in front of her mother's portrait. The old witch had a time of her life, but refused to tell who the culprit was. Although Sirius strongly suspected it was the 'stone-face', as he secretly called Claude, he couldn't prove anything. And if the spider webs crowded his bedroom as of late, it wasn't anything worth mention... was it?

Sebastian, on other side, was much more subtle. His word games with the old coot – i.e. Dumbledore, were becoming a stuff of legend. Dumbledore wanted the young Antares Carruthers in the Order, because they could use such a gifted man as himself – Antares snorted at the memory; as if he were a wizard. But no; he was an orphan boy with two butlers from Hell on the warpath. Mundungus experienced that fact first hand, when he tried to scam the youth of some rather precious artefacts on his person. Nevertheless, the scraggly thief didn't count on Sebastian being here, and... Let's just say that Sebastian wasn't amused by the Dung's harebrained explanation just why he was in his Young Master's bedroom, while the said Master was asleep... The next day, Dung was blabbering something about demons and torture, but no one took him seriously, as they all knew that Dung liked to glug too much of a Firewhisky to be reliable But not Antares.

"Yes,_ you._" The other butler repeated, taking his glasses off, while the sharp amber of his eyes bled into demonic red. He looked at the thinly veiled body of his Master lustily.

* * *

It had been a trial, to be so patient with the boy, what with him being so... succulent and his blood so seductive – Claude stopped to count how many pairs of pants he had ruined when he drank Antares' blood – but every time, the orgasm was just as unexpected and forceful as the first one had been. Antares' blood was the mixture of darkness and bittersweet flavour with an undertone of salt, like tears. The first taste literally punched his breath out of him. If Ciel's blood was Heaven, then Antares' was Heaven and Hell combined – a cocktail of seduction, salvation and punishment, lifting his spirit to the highest point just to pile drive it into the deepest, darkest sin ever known. The orgasm that overtook his body had him convulsing in aftershocks of pleasurable agony.

And he swore to himself, there and then, if that was how the boy's blood tasted like – then he would keep the teen; because surely, his soul would make the epitome of meals he ever had. One look at Michaelis mutely stated the same – the Black Butler would never be the same, ever again.

They tortured themselves – taking care of the fragile teen with diamond hard green eyes, taking care of his wounds – they couldn't resist snatching those trickles of the crimson fluid. It was shameful and degrading, to feast on the almost catatonic boy like this, with each sweep of their tongues bringing them to shuddering completion, making them seem more like a pair of depraved Succubus's, but they didn't care. It was too good, too much and too addictive feeling to stop.

Antares' skin was riddled with scars everywhere. It wasn't like Ciel's milky smooth skin that was marred only by tattoo, or Alois' silky, cream-like expansion that just begged to be touched. This skin was deathly pale, eroded with time and torture, with scars etched into it like some perverse kind of snakes frozen under the pale skin – some were puckered up, and some were like deep canyons on the teen's body, carved in to stay forever. There were some patches that were pink and red, like meat under the skin, with a couple of blue veins crossing it rebelliously, as if in testament of the owner's stubborn will to live against the odds of certain death. His body was a study of grotesque beauty that never failed to fascinate either Claude or Sebastian. Even if demons were drawn to perfection, if only to mar it – be that a soul crying for revenge or beautiful body – they were always fascinated with the process of changing the beauty into something that was... different.

Antares was no wimp; his body was a mute witness to that. Anyone who could survive the demolition of his mind, body and soul, and still manage to get out on top was more than worthy of demon's respect.

And Claude wanted to respect him – not only in front of those silly humans, but he wanted to pay homage to that battered body that still breathed and lived, still housed the deliciously dark soul that would be his to devour in the end. He wanted to worship the temple of his salvation and damnation; for surely, once he claimed this wondrous creature, he would be irrevocably changed.

* * *

Sebastian Michaelis wasn't one hell of a demon for nothing. Ciel was a good Master – entertaining to the end, and he could say he held a small amount of respect and affection for his dearly departed – ahem, eaten soul, - but the candle he held to Ciel's memory was nothing in comparison of the burning pyre of hellfire he felt for his latest Master, Antares.

Antares. A boy that was too broken to ever repair, too cold to ever be warm to another human soul and too harsh to ever be gentle to those he once held dear. Fire and ice, revenge tempered with cunning mind that made Sebastian shudder with excitement and dread. The boy barely touched the middle of his chest while standing, he was fragile as a lark, and yet, his inner core could crush a diamond into smithereens if needed be.

The first thing that Sebastian noticed, when he first saw his master, were the wounds. Never, ever in his long life, had he seen someone in such a pitiful state, and yet clinging to life, if not hope. He recoiled from the mutilates sack of a body at first, until he mustered his guts and courage and pick the boy up.

The second thing was his eyes. Sebastian always had a weakness for exotically coloured eyes – Ciel had one of the most stunning set of sapphire blue orbs ever seen, but Antares' were...

Green. And not any green, they were green like cat's, or the deepest, clearest emerald. He regretted that one of those exquisite orbs would be marred with his contract, but it couldn't be helped. The glowing purple sign on the green did things to him he didn't want to think deeper about.

When he watched the boy's cinematic record, he immediately fell for those cat green eyes, shining with anger, mirth, and a myriad other emotions called life. Now, those eyes were as good as dead, and Sebastian didn't like it. Those innocent eyes were lost, and in their stead, there were green diamonds that struck at his heart every time he looked into them.

And then, he got to know Antares' razor sharp mind and cynical perception of the world, and his blood. If he had teased Claude about his peeing incident with Ciel's blood, he could now sympathize with the Spider Butler most emphatically.

Because Antares' blood was the epitome of perfection. Sebastian didn't care about completing the contract as soon as possible. He was always one of the more playful ones, even with Ciel being his Master, as shown in him prolonging Ciel's contract after they managed to get revenge on all who sullied the name of Phantomhive.

Antares was special case. His soul was already darkened – blackened with the need of revenge, and yet, when Sebastian tasted Antares' blood, it was like looking into the workings of the space for the first time. The stars, the planets, galaxies...all of it were there, and he felt incredibly small and daring for claiming such perfection.

Unknowingly to Antares, he dragged out the fulfilment of contract – Antares was too interesting to just let go, to not figure him out before the end. And the longer he... held Antares, the more he wished for Antares to be his.

He wanted that kitten something terrible, to soothe his hurts and to hear his purrs, to see those eyes full of life again –

To posses him and never, ever let him go.

And tonight, Antares Carruthers, the broken soul - Harry Potter, the Forsaken Saviour of the Wizarding world would be his.

* * *

_**/The End/Owari/**_


	7. Among The Hawks And Doves

_**AMONG THE HAWKS AND DOVES**_

_**

* * *

**_

_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own either _Naruto _or _Harry Potter,_ or the mentioned characters. But, I do own the story.

_**Summary:**_ Love lurks in the most unusual places... Huh.. Who would have thought that one of those places is an interrogation room? This is SLASH and descriptions of gore. If you can stomach it, then read it.

_**Shout out:**_ Wah, that is something unusual, but well, I did promise something wit Harry and Ibiki one of my readers, so there it is. It is not complete, because I am just evil that way, but there will be a sequel... it just a hunch_. /grins/._

_**Warnings:**_ First, it's a**_ SLASH_** – meaning _**Harry/Ibiki **__(ish spooked out-"Frankenstein bunnies, I tell ya") –_ and there are descriptions of gore. So, if you can't stomach it – either of it, you are welcome to hightail out of here. Otherwise, enjoy!

* * *

_And fearless are the idiots  
Among the hawks and doves  
We're on the outside looking in  
A couple of freaks in love_

_(Elton John – Freaks in Love)_

_

* * *

_

"Now... Will you tell me who sent you or do I have to use more..._ drastic_ measures?" A gruff voice asked the form that was stretched across the cross.

The dungeon was... cold and dark and scented with pungent odours of iron, blood and, burnt flesh and something that could only be despair and pain.

The slouched form on the cross twitched.

"Fuck_. You."_ The prisoner snarled out weakly, his voice thin and ragged with absence of water and his vocal chords were likely damaged form the... after effects of hospitable stay in this dreary hole named interrogation chamber.

His captor sighed. This one was particularly unwilling one, which was all the more of a reason for him to break the prisoner as soon as possible.

However, he was intrigued by the man's resilience and past – for someone who was a civilian, the prisoner had amazingly high threshold for pain, and what was more, the interrogator suspected he had been a soldier, if the wounds on his... _guest's._.. body were of any indication.

They had caught the man – teen, really – trying to sneak into the village, and because they were a paranoid bunch of bastards – the recent kidnapping of Hyuuga Hinata wasn't helping the matters - the thief – or whoever the teen was, had been bundled off to the Interrogation Unit.

This was the third month since he had been brought here, and he was still going good, the torture notwithstanding.

He was some kind of a joke – and legend among the interrogators. No matter what they had done to him, no matter how painful, how crippling, no matter the mind-fuckery they engaged the so-called tough cookie in, he still did not bend. It frustrated and awed them at the same time. They had tried with Yamanaka, but the man was repelled from the teen's mind and had to spend a fortnight in hospital due to the injuries.

So the mental attacks were out. There remained only physical, and emotional. Physical, Anko had all the fun in the world with the man – snakes, salt in the wounds, pulling nails and the like, she even created a pair of new techniques, just from 'working' on the man.

And yet, he stayed silent.

The tall man looked at the ragged form. Such amount of deprivation from senses and exposure to some of the worst torture known to man had broken his body.

He was heavily scarred, and bleeding even now. There had been pain, and only pain, and he could sympathize with Cookie, as they called him. What had they done to him, even he would have broken under such torment, and yet, this youth stayed silent.

Oh, he screamed. He howled. He cried – but not even once, he begged for mercy.

"Why won't you speak?" He asked the prisoner. "You know – you could've spared yourself the torture and pain. You just have to tell me – "

A dry chuckle interrupted him. "No can do, bastard. I know your sort– if I agree to sing my little heart out, there would be no guarantee that you would stop using the..._ incentive._" The prisoner hacked, a dark, almost black blood colouring the deathly pale lips.

The interrogator's eyebrow twitched. Well, the stubborn fucker _was_ right, at any rate.

The chains rattled.

* * *

Green eye looked into his dark orbs. A single orb – the other one, Anko tore out gleefully just three days ago. He fought a wince at the memory of that particular... occasion. He was hardened warrior, and he was an interrogator for a very long time – but this – this just seemed _wrong._

The gaunt face looked at him, marred with scars, one eyelid over the empty eye socket that was still bleeding heavily, despite the crude bandage, which now hung around the teen's neck like some mockery of a victory wreath – dirty, blooded and pungent.

Surprisingly, the teen still had his hair, but now, instead of being black, it was gray with white streaks mixed in. Cookie's face was like some kind of a grotesque mask, like papier-mâché one, hiding something behind it, and mesmerizing and disgusting the watcher with its unique brand of beauty. Ugly, even horrific beauty, but beauty just the same.

It was like watching butterfly without wings, or even wild cat in a small cage. Beautiful spirits, but with broken bodies.

"I don't like torturing you." He spoke out, his voice grave.

His prisoner snorted. "And I don't like to be tortured, but we can't have what we want all the time, can we?" he asked sardonically, making interrogator's lips twitch with grim amusement.

"Then why do you insist on not telling anything?" He asked wearily. He had asked this particular question so many times now, he was sick of those words. They did not change anything.

The silence settled between them, interspersed with the uneven and irregular breathing of the prisoner.

"I don't like being broken."

The whisper was so silent the interrogator had to strain - even with his superior hearing – to hear it.

* * *

'_I don't like being broken.'_

When he silently closed the doors of the Room number 13, those words echoed in his head.

'_I don't like being broken.'_

The same words he had told his captors so long ago.

What an irony.

* * *

To his surprise, they ceased to torture him. It should've been a relief, from the constant pain and whatnot, but he was wary, and expected for the other shoe to drop sometime. Because Fate was a bitch like that, and someone, named Harry James Potter hadn't been given lucky breaks only on a whim – there was always, always a catch somewhere in the writing.

The crazy snake bitch whined and pouted, of course, but he had glimpsed a look of relief somewhere deep in her eyes - so deep he doubted anyone else had seen it. They had a strange relationship. They taunted each other, sharp verbal jabs and whatnot, only that Anko had the possibility of exacting revenge on him without repercussions. She was like Bellatrix – only younger, saner and more bloodthirsty version. Not very reassuring combination, but what the hell – it was fun while it lasted. Not.

His wounds had been tended to, but he didn't know who had done the deed – it was one of those times he was unconscious, and the next time he was awake, he found himself in a clean, albeit cold and bare cell with thin cot and even thinner blanket. A luxury, comparing to those three months of agony, and with cold days coming – Harry suspected the winter would soon be there – it was better than nothing. He had been clothed into a soft, old threadbare sweatshirt that was a couple of times too big for him, but it beat being naked all the time.

He did not have any contacts with outside world, which was fine with him. Most of his days were spent in meditation and enforcing his mind shields. He could not do more, because his body was still healing, and this damn collar was still on. Sure, he had made some headway in chipping it, but it was tiring process, especially when nobody had seen the bloody thing. Magic was a wonderful thing, but in that instance, it was just a pain in the arse. Luckily, _Occlumency _did not depend on magic, otherwise he would be a goner.

And so, his days passed in cold and silence.

* * *

He couldn't help but watch him. When he was not so wary, Cookie was curiously calm and desensitized to the isolation. Any other person would've gone mad, what with the silence and lack of human contact, but not Cookie.

He came to watch him, early in the morning or late in the night, but always when Cookie was asleep.

The teen was clothed in a threadbare gray sweatshirt that reached to his knees, curled into a small ball. He had to suppress a wince at Cookie's position – it should've been very painful, what with some of his bones still healing – he knew that from his own experiences, but the youth didn't have a care about that minor discomfort.

Dull gray and white hair was long now, reaching just under his shoulders. Someone had braided it, as to tame the wild feathery soft locks, but with minimal success, as some of the strands still escaped the braid. Wild and untamed even in captivity, just like their owner.

He was so innocent looking. If he hadn't knew better, he would have thought him to be ordinary teen, without care of the world, and not the stubborn hard arse that caused the simultaneous feelings of like, dislike, awe and grudging respect across his division. Of course, Cookie didn't know that. But the interrogators respected him, and God forbid, some even liked him. Genuinely liked. They may be bloodthirsty maniacs in most of the cases, but they were still bleeding humans under the skin, and Cookie somehow managed to touch that part of them.

When Cookie had been brought here for the first time, they thought it would be easy as a pie, to break the slender boy. However, minutes passed, then hours, then days and nights, and they were no closer to the answer as they were on the day Cookie had been brought in their oh-so-gentle-care.

But him... For him, the boy held a special meaning. That defiant, wild spirit was something he loathed to break, and with each session, he had feared the youth would finally succumb to the torture. And he was – ironically enough – relieve, when the boy persisted, even when the torture techniques they had used on him were brought to inhuman heights.

Gently, he touched the locks of gray and white – never silver, just two distinct shades of colour mixing in. They were scraggly and warm, like a living thing, and involuntarily, he smiled at the sensation.

He didn't smile often.

So just how was this little prisoner managing to bring a smile on his face with such ease?

* * *

He twitched. He was aware. He was, for some time now. On the outside, he still pretended to be hurt more than he should have been, but when playing games with those people, he learned that he could never be too careful.

The days passed by. Slowly, he recovered – his health won't be perfect, after that horror of a interrogation trip, especially within those circumstances, but he would get by. And just a little time – just a little time, and he would be free of that blasted contraption of a collar. He could almost taste it.

And then, freedom, here we come.

But those dark eyes –

_Yes._

Dark, unfathomable, and even scarier than Snape's, which was a feat all of its own. Those eyes that drilled into his lone orb – so dark, as if they were seeing into the depths of his soul. He had been tempted, many times, to just say fuck it and tell the man all the secrets, if it weren't for his stubborn nature.

The man was taller than him. Stronger than him, without doubt. When he had first saw him, Harry was half mad with pain and Anko was whining about something – using something or other – when he had stepped into the room, as if he owned it.

And there it was.

Harry didn't begrudge the man for torturing him, like he had begrudged Voldemort – the interrogator was just doing his job, no more, no less. Oh, he had antipathy for the other interrogators, especially for that Anko bitch, but not for him. Never for him.

It was strange that he could not loath the man who had taken from him so much.

He would miss him when he would be gone.

* * *

Gone.

"What do you mean, _he's gone?"_ Ibiki's sharp voice cut throught the tense silence.

"J – Just that, Ibiki-sama. H – He's gone. The cell is empty." The shinobi stuttered out, barely managing to avoid soiling his pants. Ibiki's killing intent rose.

"He was in the most secure block... and in the cell that sucks chakra out of the prisoner... and you are telling me he somehow managed to give us a mickey and hightailed out?" Anko snarled out, her eyes wild.

The rest of interrogators were similarly affected.

And spooked.

They knew the state the Cookie was in – it was virtually impossible to make a escape with the wounds he had. Somehow, the little blighter had managed to do the impossible.

And that meant the security of the complex – and consequently village – was flawed.

"What will we do, Ibiki-sama?" One of the Interrogators, Kagutsuchi, asked. He was smaller than Ibiki, with black hair in a low ponytail and red shades, clothed in standard interrogation uniform,. He had fondness for knives and anything pointy.

"Should we report – "

" – No." Ibiki interrupted him. "This is our concern. And if Danzo finds out we have AWOL prisoner, the situation will be FUBAR before we'd know it." The listeners grimaced or winced. If the Danzo found out about Cookie... it wouldn't be good. And if the old war hawk got a hold of him... just thinking about that, it gave Ibiki the willies. To have a person who could break in anywhere, at any time on his disposal... Danzo would be creaming his pants with delight at the possibilities.

"We'll catch him. And, everyone..." Ibiki paused.

"Not a word about Cookie to_ anyone._ Understood?"

A chorus of 'aye's' later, they scattered.

And prisoners were wondering why were their interrogators more vicious as usual that day.

* * *

_**Dictionary**_

**_AWOL_** - **A**bsence **W**ithout** O**fficial** L**eave - in that care, Harry escaped.

**_FUBAR_** - **F**ucked** U**p **B**eyond **A**ll **R**eason - the situation or mission is... well, fucked up.

_**/To Be Continued/**_


	8. May You Live In Interesting Times

_MAY YOU LIVE IN… INTERESTING TIMES_

_

* * *

_

_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own _Star Trek_ or _Harry Potter_, or it's characters – I just own this little itty bitty story. 'Nuff said.

_**Summary:**_ _'May you live in interesting times.' _A blessing and a curse. Harry just had a misfortune of being hit with that particular curse and become unwitting partner of Spock Prime.

_**Shout out:**_ Uh… _/stares/_ This is one of my weirder works to date, but when I saw the prompt for writing Spock/Harry, it just hit me. Because I am an avid Kirk/Spock supporter, I left one beloved (younger) hobgoblin with his Kirk, but stole another for your amusement. Besides, Spock Prime deserves more loving, and because he doesn't have his Kirk-half, he was just too damn tempting to pass up. _»May you live in interesting times,«_ is an ancient Chinese blessing, although some say it's also a curse. And no, I don't take the prompts, unless I have a good idea to write them with. Consider this my apology for the last chapter.

_**Warnings:**_ **SLASH **– meaning **male/male relations,** in this case **Harry Potter/Spock Prime**. Mentions of non-consensual sexual situations. And changing point of view, from Harry to Spock Prime and back. That's all, now onward to reading!

* * *

_**Spock Prime/Harry **__**Potter**_

He was exhausted. Sore. Bone-deep tired. His body ached in places he hadn't known it could ache. And to the top of it all, he was on an unknown planet – if not universe, somewhere in blood red desert in a sweltering hot cave and apparently bonded with a green-blooded hobgoblin of some sort. Yup, Harry mused wearily, his life was just peachy like that.

It all began with a woman, namely one Cho Chang, an ex-Ravenclaw and a hopeful contender for the prestigious name of Mrs. Potter. Oh, you didn't know? The war with Voldemort was over, and the Wizarding World was all happy and dandy all over again. Harry, not so much. When the first wave of euphoria had been swept away, people – at least witches – began to daydream about having a nice little cottage with a pretty white fence and all that rot, the pet exterminator of Dark Lords, named Harry Potter, included in the package.

Nifty. Only, Harry wasn't so sure he wanted his happily ever after being so mundane, but that didn't stop the witches from trying to score with him. In just under a month, Harry had become an expert on love, binding and attraction potions and spells, no matter how obscure they were. Even Hermione Weasley, nee Granger, hadn't known even a tenth of what her friendly neighbour celebrity had – but Harry wasn't exactly proud of his talents in that regard, even if they were quite impressive. Self-preservation and all that. Luckily, Ginny was hung on Dean Thomas, and the happy couple intended to wed soon – one Molly Weasley apparently didn't mind the happy sound of pitter-patter of her first grandchild, but she minded the said child being born out of wedlock very much. Of course, the young pair balked at first, but Mount Mama Weasley was unshakable in that regard, hence the pre-wedding madness – oops, _preparations,_ were in full swing.

Harry had reluctantly shackled up with pretty Chinese witch – if nothing else, she was a good deterrent for all those hopeful bitch – excuse me, _witches,_ that wanted their hunk-meat of a Man-Who-Won.

* * *

And there began Harry's untold woes. Cho was pretty intelligent – even more so as Hermione, but the bushy-haired witch got her beaten in that department with a dash of cunning and practical mind – being Muggleborn was more of an asset than hindrance, as it enabled the said Muggleborn witch or wizard to look at the matter from an... _unique_ viewpoints, so to speak. In her defence, Cho was still beautiful, now working as a supermodel for _Witch Weekly_ and she was also a reserve Seeker for Puddlemere United. However, despite her achievements, she was one needy, greedy, bitchy little girl. Harry had stopped counting how many times she had burst into tears just because something didn't go her way, or her accusations of Harry having an affair with some other woman or something. And in the same breath, the bint had dared to hint that Harry should grace her with an engagement ring sooner than later.

The last straw of that particular Hippogriff's back was broken on some particularly chilly Monday evening. Harry had just returned from work, tired as hell and just wanting to shower and sleep the time away, when he found the seething Cho in his living room, demanding just why was he seeing that Delacour hussy behind her back. Harry, tired and cranky as he was, didn't deign to tell her that Gabrielle Delacour wasn't his type, and that he definitely wasn't some kind of paedophile, thank you very much! He was just too tired for the bawling match as it were.

Well, Hell hath no fury like woman scorned, and Cho definitely suited that description.

The row escalated, and Harry, against all the common sense, turned his back on her, intent to march off under a steaming hot shower in order to get some peace and relaxation, after getting the last word in edgewise.

However, when Cho had called him, he just couldn't resist looking back – and his last sight consisted of a highly pissed and red in the face Chinese girl that shouted something in a foreign language – Harry suspected it was Chinese – and then, the opalescent coloured beam reached him, and the next thing Harry knew, was darkness.

* * *

Sighing, he surreptitiously shifted in the makeshift bed, subtly stretching his muscles and checking for any other damage besides the one in his butt. He was still freaked out a little – I mean, it's not every day you go straight from - well, being _straight, - _to being bent in a circle, proverbially speaking. Not that Harry was adverse to gays or anything - to each bloke his own, he supposed, but finding himself under the amorous advances of a man – and we're not talking about innocent little_ 'let's-hold-hands-okay-honey'_ but the full-blown _'wanna-fuck-you-like-an-animal'_ ones. He had tried to stop the man – it was obviously a male, what with his... package, but to no avail. Even worse, his magic was still depleted from that little trip he had unwillingly undergone, so he was forced to rely on his reflexes and pure dumb luck.

However, his luck had taken a hike somewhere along the road and Harry suspected it would be a long, long time before it would deign to come back.

Slowly, he looked at his... partner. Whatever.

The male was easily taller than him, with a slender built that belied the strength he possessed. Olive hued skin was lightly flushed with green – the high cheeks and the tips of the being's wars, and let's not forget the... private parts. Harry flushed at that thought, refusing to look at the man's privates, no matter how fascinating the sight may have been. It just cemented his Hypothesis that whatever – or whoever had claimed him – was obviously an alien. Instead of that, Harry focused on pointy ears. It was, as if the man was some off-shot kin of Elves, but Harry didn't know any Elven race with so... awkwardly flared ears. They were not...delicate. Not at all! They were robustly made, as if someone took human ears and moulded them in desired pointy shape. But, Harry had to admit, he found those ears ..._ cute_ in a way. The hair was messy black with lightly gray peppered strands at the being's temples. The face was one of a man in his middle years – not as youthful anymore, with skin sallowing a little, tiny scarecrow feet at the edges of the eyes, faint laughter and worry lines etched in the skin. Those fly-away eyebrows were deep black, and the nose reminded him of Snape's, only this one was in unbroken state and a little smaller. Thin lips were soft and slightly parched, and the chin was free of stubble. All in all, the face was an intriguing mix of human and alien traits... Harry blinked as he stared in those half-opened eyes.

They were dark.

_Black._

Wait a minute –

Those eyes were closed before, weren't they?

Harry blinked again. And then –

Green eyes widened as he flushed with embarrassment as he tried to scoot away from that – that –

Keyword. _Attempted. _

The alien, hobgoblin, whatever – held him securely, not budging an inch, watching him with those damnably knowledgeable eyes.

Harry's blood ran cold. He was in a deep shit now.

He gulped.

'_Oh, shit.'_

_

* * *

_

He had to smile at his partner's _'deer-in-a-headlight'_ look on the face. It was... cute. The word would be an irrational choice for any ordinary Vulcan, but Spock Prime wasn't any ordinary Vulcan, and the long-term exposure to one James Tiberius Kirk had resulted in his human half being less repressed. Besides, it was a long time since that time, when he had been stick in the mud, so to speak. In his long years of life, he had learned to accept both halves of his unique heritage, and made them work at the maximum efficiency. Of course, there were problems at first, because he had been ashamed of not being a full-blooded Vulcan, but James had shown him that there should be no shame in that.

When he came to that... universe, he had been sure there wasn't anything more for him, besides guiding the young Kirk to the path his Kirk has led, and hope that the two stubborn younglings would admit their feelings to each other. He, himself, didn't have such a luxury – even if James had been the closest to _T'hy'la_ for him... until now.

The Genesis incident had changed it all. Instead of being blown up in prafactors, his body had been made younger, but still not so young as to be confused with Spock. At first, they had feared the side effects – nobody knew just how would his body function now, when he was young again. Nevertheless, half a year later, they had deducted, with 96.9 percent accuracy, that it would be alright.

And so, Spock Prime had lived his days on the New Vulcan in peace, doing research and occasionally interfering in political affairs as Ambassador Savik. He was still in contact with the troublesome duo of Jim Kirk and his counterpart Spock – it was always amusing to hear about their exploits. In addition, it seemed that the Spock of this universe would have more luck with his Kirk than he had with his.

It made his heart throb with both happiness and longing. In his time, the only bonds he had with his Kirk, were the bond of Captain and Commander, and later on, a friendship bond. The friendship was very strong, to the point they could almost read each other's thoughts, and that made them one of the best – no, the best tag team in history of Starfleet. However, all good things have to come to stop sometime, and Kirk was promoted to Admiral, married and got a kid. Spock hadn't had a chance to tell Kirk his... _feelings,_ but after Kirk had married, he had resolved to never even mention them to his dearest friend.

It was hard – the hardest thing he had done, letting Jim go. But it was nothing in comparison of watching him die.

However, as humans were so fond to say, time heals all wounds, and Spock's heart had healed a little. His mind was not in similarly good shape. When he had melded with the Jim Kirk of this universe, he had to tightly leash his desire to not bond them irrevocably. Jim's mind was just as brilliant as ever, just as warm and inviting and fascinating... It took a herculean effort to finish the meld, to smile, and to tell those young, inquisitive, innocent eyes that it would be alright.

So his life was dull enough. Peaceful enough... until three days before, when the _pon farr_ struck.

At first, he had been confused. He had thought it was just some reaction to his little excursion to the desert, to do some meditation – his mind was more... hectic as usual lately, and he had thought it would do him some good, when he would have isolated him from all contacts, and after a week, he would be back home, hopefully with calm mind. First day he had made some headway with the meditation.

Second day, sometime in afternoon, the fever struck. And not in the usual, mild version – but he had gone straight to the middle stage. It seemed that his mental disciplines were good – too good, and he hadn't noticed the signs of himself being in _pon farr_ until it was almost too late to do anything. Luckily, he had been in desert, so he wouldn't be any danger to... prospective bond mates. Unluckily, he didn't have a means to communicate his plight to Sarek or anyone else, so the thought of getting help was out. Even worse, his mind had yearned for the touch, for a tangible connection with someone, anyone, but Jim Kirk would be preferable.

It seemed, Spock Prime supposed hazily, that his mind has, in some aspects, regressed, when he was hit with the Genesis solution. And _pon farr_ only showed that particular weakness more glaringly and cruelly than usual. He had thought he wouldn't need a bond mate – after all, he was, even if he was in a youthful body, old, and his time of _pon farr_ was well past.

But when he saw someone – a person – in his cave – his mental restrictions snapped. It wasn't important that this person was not his Jim, or that what he was doing, would be tantamount to rape – his body demanded its' due, and his mind was hungry and empty.

The man was smaller than him, clad in strange garments that were likened to Vulcan ceremonial robes to some extent. The material was strange – something between leather and silk, coloured in rusted ochre colour, the shade of Vulcan's dunes in the evening. It was, as if the person was here, as a sacrifice for his desires, and when he looked in those eyes – those deep green eyes, Spock Prime was certain.

The man fought like wild _sehlat_, not giving a quarter, but Spock Prime was determined to have this fascinating being. His suppressed instincts flared up, and he had disrobed the trashing and protesting man, uncaring if he had torn the garments to the shreds.

The body under his was pale and marked with scars of all shapes and sizes. Some were faint, white streaks on the slightly rough skin, and some were angry red and raised slightly, as if they hadn't had enough time to heal properly and so they had been healed as good as they could be. One part of him was horrified, but his primal side was more than satisfied – his would-be bond mate was strong, and that was exactly what he needed.

When he was sheathed in the man, he involuntarily pressed the tips of his fingers to the meld points. The man was still gasping – partly from shock and partly from pain at the invasion, and those green eyes glittered in the light defiantly.

_*...parting and never parted..."_

He barely managed to utter the ritual words for the bonding, his mind was a inferno of feelings and irrational thoughts right now, and that wasn't good, as he would undoubtedly rip the fragile mind of his partner to the shreds –

Because humans were rarely more than psi-null, it was a real possibility. However, Spock Prime was astonished to discover that this particular human was anything but a psi-null. No human he had encountered in his long life had such an intricate mind defences like this one apparently had.

It was as if he had hit the iron wall, full throttle.

Unpleasant... and thrilling experience. His mind flames concentrate on bringing down the wall, in an effort to expose the innermost core of that mind, to pick it apart and meld it together with his. The wall responded with ice – sub-zero temperatures that almost made Spock Prime jerk away, but after a moment, such coldness actually appeased to him, making him a little more rational, and not the desperately clawing mind beast he had been before.

The howling of two forces thrilled him, and for the first time, he didn't think of Jim – not his Jim, not this universe's Jim, but he was aware only of that intriguing being which was resisting his advances, be that physical or mental ones.

By some chance or luck, he had managed to get in, and the man was too late to launch the secondary mind defences. It seemed that working with the maverick of Starfleet was paying at least – what had he done was sneaky and underhanded, just like what Jim had done with the '_Kobayashi Maru',_ but it was necessary. He had to bond – he just had to, and nothing, absolutely nothing, would detract him from that.

The mind he had encountered was a sheer brilliance. Not like Jim's – but brilliance all the same. This mind was so complex it baffled him for a moment. Of course, the man – Harry – wasn't a genius, like Jim was, but in his own way, his mind was terrifying with it's possibilities, layers and whatnot. Harry's mind was just as chaotic as Jim's had been, but in this chaos, there was some semblance of order that prompted Spock Prime to tread lightly across the planes. The mind was constantly changing, like some bizarre kind of a Rubix cube, but infinitely more difficult and confusing. This mind, Spock Prime discovered, could be likened to sky – ever changing, ever moving, ever dangerous.

It was like being in a belly of the beast – and Spock Prime fervently wished that this beast – or whatever it was - would consent to bonding with him.

His mind, as scarred and needy as it was, latched on this brilliance, and Spock had a feeling that even if he weren't in a _pon farr_, if he would meld with that man of his own free will, there would be no other outcome.

And suddenly, he was in the eye of a storm.

* * *

He didn't know how long he was here. It wasn't important. But this – this man, this Harry, his _T'hy'la_ – if Harry would consent to that, was fascinating. Spock Prime had seen many things in his life, but what had he seen of this man's life, completely blew anything he had ever encountered and experienced, out of proverbial water.

This man was not psi-null. In fact, Spock Prime wasn't even sure if Harry would even register on the psi-scale. If anything he had seen was true – and Spock Prime suspected it was, this man's psi ability was off the scales; and that fact excited, scared and confused him in equal measures.

The climax hit him like a freight train. He didn't even register it, so immersed in Harry's mind he was, and then, there was a nova, and then supernova of pleasure that made both of them shudder and convulse on the soft red sand helplessly.

And then, they blacked out.

* * *

His young partner was mortified, Spock Prime noted with amusement. It didn't help that Harry had been watching him for some minutes, and being caught in the act by Spock Prime himself, helped even less.

"I don't mind, " He offered, an impish twinkle in his eye. At this, Harry reddened even further. "What – You – " The green-eyed man sputtered out, his face a pinnacle of bewilderment mixing with shame.

Spock Prime had to curb a chuckle that threatened to spill over his lips. "I'm sorry we've encountered each other like... that," He shrugged helplessly. His usual eloquence had fled from him, when he watched his bonded.

Harry blinked. "Damn right you should be," He grumbled out, poking into firm, warm chest sharply. "What in the nine hells was _that?"_

Spock Prime blinked. "I apologize for sexually assaulting you, but it was necessary." He watched Harry gape unceremoniously. "Whaa - _Necessary?_" Harry parroted disbelievingly. "Since _when _do the greetings include jumping my bones at sight?"

Spock just had to chuckle at that one. "Since now?" He offered, but Harry's disapproving face – more like pouting one – stopped that venue of teasing. He sobered. "If it were up to me, we would have met in more acceptable setting," he sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose wearily. "Unfortunately, we don't have that luxury – and you had the misfortune of encountering me in _pon farr_."

Harry blinked. "Um... Heat?" he offered timidly. "It seemed that you've been in some kind of a heat, like a cat – " He babbled, before his eyes widened and he snapped his mouth shut. "Sorry," He apologized meekly. "It's just that - you kinda reminded me – "

Spock Prime nodded, relieved. "You are right. What makes our situation complicated is the fact that neither of us anticipated the _pon farr._ I should have known, for I had been in _pon farr_ before, but it was a long time since then, and I assumed the symptoms to be from the unbalance in my mind."

Harry blinked. "Huh. Interesting. And me coming across you probably didn't help the matters." He said thoughtfully.

"Actually, " Spock Prime offered, "You saved my life."

Harry just had to gape once again.

'_Saved his life. Well, thanks a bunch. Although the sex was good – no, bad, bad Harry! Don't even go there!'_ Harry's inner rant was cut short as the man touched his shoulder. "Are you alright?" Spock Prime asked, concerned.

Harry blinked. "Uh... No?" He offered. "You know, in my life, I had my share of bizarre adventures, but this one takes the cake." He told the older man sheepishly.

They were curled against each other, Spock Prime sheltering Harry from the approaching coldness, as they stared at the merrily crackling fire. "Indeed," the older man agreed. "However, I can't say I regret it. I only regret that I ... _hurt_ you..."

The man's voice conveyed sincere regret, and somewhere in the back of his skull, Harry knew it was true.

Exhaling shakily, Harry pressed himself to turn around and look into those dark eyes. "Shit happens," he told the remorseful man matter-of-factly. "We are here now, and if nothing else, I would like just where would this lead us. So," He extended his head in handshake. "Let's start anew. I'm Harry James Potter, pleased to meet you." A small smile played on his lips hesitantly.

Those dark eyes widened with tentative hope. "And I – I am Spock cha'Sarek; it's an honor to meet you," the older man's voice was shaking with repressed emotions.

They smiled at each other, as their hands touched in a gentle handshake.

"So, Spock, "Harry began conversationally, "Just what does that _'cha'Sarek'_ mean?"

Spock's smile was dazzling in his relief and sincerity. "It means son of Sarek."

While they talked, the fire crackled merrily, warming them and casting gentle shades on their faces. Neither of them minded their position – naked like on the day they were born, curled under Harry's ochre-coloured robe, body-to-body and skin against skin.

Neither of them knew what would the next days, or even future bring them, but they were ready to try.

Sometimes, the greatest curses may be just blessings in disguise.

* * *

_**/To Be Continued/**_


	9. Heaven Can Wait

_HEAVEN CAN WAIT_

_

* * *

_

_**Disclaimer:**_ Ergh. I don't own Harry Potter or Eyeshield 21, nor the characters – but I do own this story. On with it.

_**Summary:**_ What would happen, if the Dursleys moved to Japan, and Harry would met the troublesome duo in the shape of Hiruma and Agon? The Hell Trio is born, of course!

_**Shout Out:**_ This is a part of longer story, a prologue, in fact. I wanted to write something with those three characters, and not in the usual style, so here it is. The entire story, I have to write out, but it would definitely differ from the canon by a large margin...Anyway, chibi Harry meets chibi Agon and chibi Hiruma. Harry is five years old, and Agon and Hiruma are both seven. Both Agon and Hiruma can speak English, for communicating with little Harry, besides, both of them are classed as geniuses in the canon, so I used that fact and wrote them as knowledgeable of speaking in English language. Harry's speech is intentionally a little off, because he has some trouble with speaking the r sound, which is normal for little kids; sooner or later they learn to speak correctly (I speak from experience, my big brother had trouble with words that had r sound, but with some help, he managed to speak correctly.)

_**Warnings:**_ AU, meaning Alternate Universe, cursing – rated for Hiruma and Agon, exclusively, and some kid _**Agon/Harry/Hiruma –**_** mild shonen-ai. **Oh, and let's not forget a small scuffle.

* * *

_Let's dance in style, let's dance for a while  
Heaven can wait; we're only watching the skies  
Hoping for the best but expecting the worst  
Are you going to drop the bomb or not?_

_(Alphaville – Forever Young)_

_

* * *

_

Their meeting was, like so many things in human lives' – quite accidental. .

It all began with the relegation of one Vernon Dursley, and consequently, Dursley family as a whole, to Japan.

Harry had been five years old at the time, and not knowing any better, he was excited over living in foreign country._ 'Maybe I could get some new friends too,' _the little green-eyed boy thought to himself optimistically. He was quite fed up with the game of '_Hawwy Hunting', _like Dudley called it. He didn't want to be bulled anymore, period.

But adults were stupid that way, and for some reason his Aunt and Uncle had something against him. Harry didn't quite understand what, but it seemed to be clued in with the unexplainable happenings around said the cause of unexplainable happenings was that M – thing, which confused little Harry greatly. When he had asked, what was that mysterious M – thing, his Aunt's lips thinned and she eyed him sharply, like that time, when Dudley accused him of breaking her favourite Ming vase. She told him it was- m – m – _Magic,_ and forbade him ho use this heinous word from henceforth.

Little Harry agreed, but asked why.

It was a mistake-

He was locked in his cupboard without his dinner.

* * *

The small green-eyed boy was looking at the park with wonder. It was so_ big! _It was bigger than the bark back home, and so much more interesting, too!

Dudley had whined himself out of going to the park, so Harry was left there by himself, not that he mined. In his little five-year old head, there was only one thought '_It was gonna be so fun!'_

He smiled as he ran towards the sand box, intent on building a big sand castle.

* * *

Hiruma Youichi was not an ordinary kid. Sharp – toothed, pointy – eared and unusually intelligent, he held a passion for strategic games. But for some reason, the damned woman – he refused to call his mother otherwise – dragged him, kicking and screaming, to the nearby park, for some 'quality time' together. The black – haired chibi snorted. _'Che. Just who is the old witch kidding?'_ He sneered at the thought. He'd rather be at home, intent on trouncing his old man at shogi.

"You – chan!" he cringed at the sugary sweet voice calling his name. "I'm going to the cafe for a little chat with my friends. Stay here and don't make any trouble." Hiruma sweatdropped.

Yup. He just knew it. Snarling, he whirled around to march away to the swings. "Suit yourself, damn woman," He grumbled out.

"You – chan, language!" Hiruma's mother bit out sharply. Youichi snorted. "I used it, get used to it," He snarked back. "I will be good little mouse there, so get going already!" his mother laughed at him and gave him a big wet kiss on his left cheek, before going away.

Hiruma grimaced. "_Eww._ Girl cooties." He quickly used his right sleeve to clean off the horrifying droll.

Girls were yucky. Moms included.

* * *

"Agon! Be careful!" Agon's father hollered after the boy who was pedalling his bike recklessly. "And don't forget to be home at seven!"

"Yeah, yeah, heard it already!" the boy hollered back, his tiny braids swinging around his face with the speed he was pedalling. "See that you do, or Unsui will have your piece of dessert."

Gray eyes widened with horror. "You _wouldn't!"_ the boy yelped out. "Oh, but I _would_, " The father snorted at his offspring's offended face. Agon was so cute when he pouted like that.

Agon groaned. He was between proverbial rock and a hard place, and his pops knew it.

"Grr... Okay, I'll be there." He ground out.

Mr. Kongo smiled proudly. Agon was_ such_ a good boy.

He turned around and walked away, intent on going home. Unsui would be happy to get this new game...

* * *

Harry was happily playing in the sand boy, not noticing the other kid approaching him. He had just finished the main tower, and now, he intened to build a wall. It would be the bestest castle in the world, he just knew it!

With a happy hum, he set on his task, before noticing a shadow over his masterpiece.

Blinking, he liked upward.

And stared.

* * *

The kid stared at him, Hiruma noted_. 'Curious.'_

He crouched on the kid's level. Usually, the brats were fleeing, seeing his unusual...attributes, but this one just sat there, and stared at him as if Hiruma was some kind of a kitten. He looked at the chibi's clothing, noting that the kid was swimming in them. Really, what kind of a mother would clothe their brat in five numbers too big trousers and shirt?

The kid was small, black, messy hair and green eyes behind those idiotic glasses and a bolt – shaped scar on his forehead. He was a _Gaijin,_ Hiruma surmised, as the shape of his eyes was all wrong for someone of Eastern descent.

The brat smiled at him shyly, which Hiruma returned with his own toothy grin.

Usually, such an expression would get any girl – or boy – crying away from Hiruma, because Hiruma was_ 'scawwy'_ and awesome like that, but this chibi only smiled wider.

"I like you. Wanna play?"

Hiruma was stumped. For the first time in his young life, his normally quicksilver brain refused to cooperate.

Huffing, he plopped himself beside the chibi. "Okay." He replied gruffly. He felt warmth in the pit of his stomach at the sight of chibi's beaming face at his reply.

"Yay! I'm Hawwy." The green – eyed sprite chirped out. Hiruma smirked. "I am Hiruma Youichi. Nice to meet 'cha, squirt. "

* * *

Harry beamed. Hiruma was so nice! And he could build such big castles, too!

After making the castle, they went to the swings, and sleds and –

He smiled, humming to himself happily, not caring where he went... and he stepped right on the way of oncoming bike.

"Get away!" He heard a holler, before he saw the boy swerve sharply to avoid the collision.

However, it would be too late –

It was too fast and too sudden –

Harry closed his eyes, and concentrated –

And by some miracle, the bike skidded to a halt just a mere finger away from the little Harry.

* * *

Furious gray eyes regarded the chibi. "What the_ fuck_ are you doing, thrash!" the bike-boy roared at the cringing Harry.

"Um. Sowwy?" Harry offered meekly.

But the gray eyed boy wasn't satisfied. He approached the chibi trash with all the intent of biting him to death, when someone collided with him.

Too surprised to get away, Agon fell on the pavement, skinning his knees and hands.

"Ow!" He bellowed. "What the fuck - !"

He was grabbed for by his hair. _"Idiot." _The other black haired, pointy – eared kid snarked out. "Are you fucking _blind?_ You could've run him over!" Jade green eyes blazed into equally infuriated gray ones. "He was in my way." Agon bit out. "Is his fault for not moving away, anyway." That earned him a nice little bonk on his head. '_Oh, that's it,'_ Agon thought venomnously_. 'No one gets way with trashing Agon – sama!'_ And with that thought, he turned around, and slugged the pointy eared fucker across his face.

* * *

Little Harry watched the scuffle, horrified. Hiruma was so brave, to defend him like that, but Harry didn't like that his protector was getting trashed. Nope, no siree.

"Stop it," He called out, his voice wobbly with fear and uneasiness. They didn't listen.

"Harry, stay away, "Hiruma ordered him, panting. A trickle of blood trailed from his mouth, his left cheek was ballooned, and he was scraped, too., his blue pullover and black trousers dirty and scuffled. The bike-kid was no better. A busted nose, bite on his right ear, and his red and green clothes were dirty and torn.

"No. Stop it. I don't wanna you get huwt," Harry pleaded, barely holding back tears.

It didn't help.

Now, Harry got a temper.

"_STOP IT!"_ He screamed.

* * *

They froze. Slowly, both boys turned to the chibi, who was shaking violently, huge emerald eyes sparkling with unshed tears.

"Don't like you huwt!" The chibi addressed Hiruma imperiously, bottom lip sticking out adorably. Hiruma smirked. "_Hoo?_ You sure are bossy, squirt." Harry nodded, and turned to stumped Agon. "You meanie. I don't like you huwt, too." He announced.

Agon gaped. "_I'm_ a meanie?" His voice rose up. "And you can just step in front of my bike, you – you _poop-head!"_

The chibi blinked at the insult. "What is... a poop head?" he asked innocently, hanging his head on the side cutely, like a small puppy.

Agon sweatdropped.

* * *

Still, the end result was the same. The two sulking boys forming a truce upon the insistence - read – big puppy-dog eyes - of a little chibi with emerald eyes. And right now, the three of them were in a sandbox, building a castle. At first, Agon intended to be just a spectator, but that bastard with pointy teeth seemed to have too much fun, and it just wasn't fair that Agon got none! Yes, Agon was an adrenaline junkie, but what was the point of doing daredevil stunts if nobody saw you and got at least one heart attack over your stunts? Besided, the chibi was interesting, and Agon's presence would undoubtedly irk the toothy bastard, too.

With that in mind, he edged closer to the sandbox, blinking at the pile of... sand.

"What are you doing, trash?" he asked. The chibi looked at him. "Making a castle. Wanna join?" he asked, a small, innocent smile on his lips. "Che. " Agon sneered. "As if."

Hiruma grinned. "Scared?" He taunted. Agon bristled. "You're asking for it, trash," He gritted out.

Still he joined, much to Hiruma's chagrin and chibi's delight.

Surprisingly, it was worth of loss of his dessert.

* * *

The next day, it was raining.

The three boys were disappointed, but it couldn't be helped.

* * *

Next time they met, it was a cloudy day. This time, Dudley couldn't worm his way out of going to the park, so he sulkily followed his mother, but not without extracting a promise of getting a large cake afterwards.

Harry was just happy he would once again meet with his new friends.

He almost ran to the park, a wide smile on his face. He would met Hiruma and Agon again!

And then, he saw them. Agon was hanging off the monkey bars by his legs, and Hiruma was... glaring at the grinning kid.

"Hiwuma! Agon!" Harry called out, running as fast as he could. Both of the boys looked at him – Agon with a smug smirk and Hiruma with his toothy grin.

"Yo, shrimp," Hiruma addressed the youngest. His little heart was warmed up with the sight of beaming chibi running toward him.

"Oi, trash," Agon addressed Harry, swinging on the monkey bars. "Where have you been?"

Harry grimaced. "Sowwy. I had to wait fo' the pet elephant to come wit me." Both of his new friends blinked owlishly. "Pet..." Agon began, "-Elephant?" Hiruma concluded the question.

Harry wordlessly pointed at the whining Dudley.

Hiruma snorted. Agon choked. "More like a pet killer whale," Agon commented, when he let go of the monkey bars and with an elegant flip, he landed on the ground on his legs in a crouch.

Harry blinked. "How did you do it?" He asked Agon, eyes filled with amazement. Agon shrugged. "Oh, that? It's nothing, " he demurred, although he puffed up with pride. Hiruma scowled. "Che... fucking monkey," he grunted out. "You are just jealous – " Agon sing-songed, barely dodging Hiruma's fist.

"Um... can you teach me?" Harry asked, wide eyes hopeful.

Both of the squabbling boys froze. "Harry, this is dangerous!" Hiruma rounded on the small chibi. Agon snorted. "Scaredy – cat," he addressed the pointy – faced bastard, sneering a smug smirk as Hiruma snarled at him. "Am not!" He insisted, huffing. "But it's still too dangerous – "

Meanwhile, little Harry climbed on the monkey bars. "Like this?" His bright voice stopped the two boys' argument.

Agon blanched. "Harry! What are you doing up here!" He exclaimed. Little Harry sent him a cheeky smile. "Doing the awesome flippy thing, what else?" He asked.

Hiruma nearly got a heart attack, when the fucking chibi let go of the bars.

"_HARRY!" _

_

* * *

_

His horrified yell was unnecessary.

The devil chibi landed... safely.

Agon gaped.

"Did I do it okay?" The chibi asked, his eyes big and innocent. Hiruma growled. That chibi would be the death of him!"

"Cool." Agon grinned. "D'you wanna see something new?" He grabbed the chibi's hand and tugged him to his bike.

Hiruma wanted to whimper.

And so, the daredevil duo was born.

* * *

**_/To Be Continued/_**


	10. Sleeping With Monsters

_SLEEPING WITH MONSTERS_

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* * *

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_**Disclaimer: **_**I** don't own _Harry Potter_, _Prince of Tennis_ or _Eyeshield 21_. I just play with the characters…./_pouts/_

_**Summary: **_The war has ended, but our lovable boy tumbled into new ball yarn of trouble… Will he be able to survive Slaughterhouse? Will the language barrier make or break the tentative relationship with his two roommates? And most importantly… Will they be able to get out of that death trap with their lives intact?

_**Shout Out**_**:** Gah… that piece was lurking on my hard drive for almost a month. I was in my crazy phase and well, this is the result. I know, I know, this isn't nearly finished, but I hesistated to put in smut scenes – and believe me, they are not innocent kind. So, if you want smut, tell me, and when I will flesh out the story more, I will add it. Anyway, those stories in _**Scrapbook Jewels**_ are _**oneshots –**_ meaning, they are, until I take them to nitpick on 'em further, finished. I will still add the odd bits and ends, don't worry. Scrapbook Jewels isn't abandoned, not by a long shot.

_**Warnings:**_ Uh… Gore, descriptions of nudity, violence, use of foul language, and_** slash **__–_ meaning _**Sanada Genichiro/Harry Potter/ Shin Seijuro**_. Are you brave enough to read? If so, then onward – but you were warned.

* * *

_It's all fun and games, until somebody gets hurt… _

_...Then it's __hilarious._

_/Anonymous/_

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* * *

_

The timing couldn't be worse. Harry grit his teeth in helpless fury. And even if they chose the opportune moment, they couldn't choose it better.

It was un-_fucking_-believable.

He had just finished with one goddamned war and was fully prepared to enjoy a well-deserved vacation – without screeching fan girls, nosy friends and overbearing '_It's-for–greater-good'_ authorities, and now, _THIS!_

He was fed up with megalomaniacs; but mad scientists quickly became number two on his shit list.

* * *

For some reason, he had been kidnapped, bundled off to some lone island, got experimented on- that hut like a fucking _bitch,_ by the way, and then, he was cheerfully informed that he was required to fight against some alien bastards as to… 'evaluate his progress.' Hmph. Those so-called 'progress evaluations', Harry quickly discovered, were just another name for brutal slaughter for the masses' amusement.

What he didn't understand was just why – or how they had chosen him. Usually, they took steroid-stuffed gorillas, but not him, a scrawny, little underfed type. The whole thing was one big, brutal melee battle, whether with weapons or without.

Humans were pitted against a variety of creatures, just to see whether they would win or not.

They were kept in their cages, naked like on the day they were born. The scientists said that it was for safety reasons – Harry hard about one girl that seduced her guard and then proceeded to strangle him with the rope made from her prison trousers in attempt to flee.

Usually, a prisoner had a cell for themselves, until the guards moved two or three into the Nest – a sick joke, because usually the persons sent there either fucked with each other or slaughtered each other, giving the room the infamous name Slaughterhouse.

The passions ran at the all time high. Even if a man adhered to the high moral principles of... _humankind,_ in this bizarre little world, he soon became a mindless beast – a killing machine without conscience and a creature of instinct.

The collars around their necks didn't help the matters one bit. One wrong move, and they could be fried with strong electrical current – the current ranged from a weak one, a sting really, to the excruciatingly painful, and death inducing one.

The scientists may be sick fucks, but they did know how to keep them under their thumb, Harry thought sourly.

* * *

"Rise and shine, sleepy head," The guard sing-songed mockingly at him, making Harry wordlessly snarl at the fucker. This particular bodyguard was prone to attempting a rise out of him, one way or another, and with Harry's already fraying nerves, this was a dangerous game to play. Reluctantly, Harry stood up – there was no sense of provoking the idiot and earning a nice little shock to go along with it. Harry was no stranger to torture, but even he was not so dumb as to let himself be goaded into a situation that would undoubtedly ended badly for him, no matter how much he wished to just _Cruccio _the imbecile to death.

He fought the urge to twitch at the guard's leering stare at his body. It wasn't unusual that the guards helped themselves with their… _charges,_ but there were exemptions, like Harry.

Harry was one of those that were unfortunate enough to survive the medical procedures and the fights against aliens. That made him almost legendary in their small circle and untouchable to the guards, much to his relief.

However, that didn't help him much right now, as someone had a _bright_ idea to stuck him into the Slaughterhouse_ again_, and Harry would, once again, have to take care of the unfortunate fuckers that would be stuck with him.

Sighing, he massaged his right temple in vain attempt to alleviate his headache, as he moved to the door.

The walk to the Nest was littered with whispers and inquiring eyes. The experiments weren't allowed to socialize, except on the battlefield and in the Nest, and both options were bad. And everyone knew, if someone was escorted to the Nest, there was very little chance to get out of the damned room without mentally and/or physically breaking in some way. They almost preferred the brute battles against aliens to being deposited to the Nest.

There wasn't anything unusual to see those who entered the Nest, being brought out dead, gibbering nonsense or, in most of the cases - catatonic.

The Slaughterhouse was brutal, on mind and body – you went in either to conquer or be conquered. Even best allies on the battlefield, were changed into bitter enemies within the confines of this accursed room.

He fought the urge to shiver in the cold air. Even if he was…_ acclimated_ to the coldness now, it didn't mean he preferred it.

Detachedly, he mused to himself, which poor bastard he would have to kill now.

* * *

They stared at each other cautiously. Steely gray eyes bore into dark brown ones; the tension was palpable in the space between them.

Lithe bodies coiled in the anticipation of breaking the fragile truce they knew it would come, one way or another.

Both of the residents of the _Slaughterhouse_ were tall, lithe and prepared to do anything to subdue each other.

Well, not _anything_, per se, but the conflict was unavoidable.

The only mercy was, that neither of them had any weapon on themselves – but that didn't mean anything, because their bodies were finely tuned weapons in itself they would use soon to either subdue or dispatch of each other.

They knew about each other, even if only briefly. One of them was very skilled with sword, and the other was a practiced melee specialist… even if his choice of… fighting likened more on an American football brawling than anything else.

The silence between them was palpable. And neither of them wanted to speak out.

Words were useless, anyway.

Not that they couldn't speak, but why speak to someone you will kill soon?

The silent _swoosh _of the door diverted their attention to three newcomers.

Two of them were big brutes, more brawn than brain, and it reflected in their dull, blood shot eyes.

The last one slinked in, hiding himself behind the pair of brutes.

The door closed with a hiss, and they all heard the sound of lock being engaged.

The Slaughterhouse was now officially in session.

* * *

Harry trotted cautiously after the hulking forms of his two…playmates, he supposed, his brain already calculating the odds of winning the fight.

He was careful to stay out of their range of vision. They may be dumb, but they were juggernauts that could crush him within seconds if he made a wrong move. This type was strong – stronger than Giants – Harry saw with his own eyes, as one of them lifted in the air an alien that weighed fifteen tons, if not more. He was aware that his head could be squished like a grape between those massive fingers… if he was still normal. His only advantage was, they were generally slow in thinking and easy to confuse – if not satisfy. Their needs were basic – fight, sleep, and defending their territory. They were only dangerous, if they were intelligent. And God help them, if one of them had a shred of sanity in their thick skulls.

He was so deeply in his thoughts that he didn't notice the two sleek shadows in the room.

At least not at first.

His instincts prodded him to look around, and he saw them, the twin shades.

He never did fight alongside them, but he heard about them.

One an unparalleled sword master and another who could more than rival a Giant with his strength.

His first reaction?

'_Oh, Shit.'_

Things were about to go into hell in a hand basket very, very quickly.

* * *

Two pairs of eyes struggled to watch the small one. They were aware of the two hulking behemoths, but right now, they were not overly concerned with them – their attention was on the small, slender form that was trying to blend into shadows.

Something in that small form called to them, to their most primal part.

The room was fairly big; enough to accommodate all of them, almost comfortably, but still spark territory disputes between the participants.

And with the feeding time nearing, disputes were guaranteed to spark up.

* * *

The food was sparser than usual. In truth, there was only enough to feed one, and even then, it wouldn't satisfy the hunger in a person's belly.

It wasn't even tasty, but it at least it sustained their bodies. Oftentimes, Harry was reminded of that movie, **_Matrix,_** and the goop the actors had to eat instead of so-called "real" food.

He swore, if only to himself, when he got out of there, he would stuff himself with real food – pizza, pumpkin pie, and the likes.

That damned Act of Secrecy was grating on his last nerves.

* * *

The goop – as food here couldn't be termed as such appropriately – finally arrived.

Surprisingly, only the two behemoths were interested in the goop, resulting in a brawl.

Harry, who made himself cozy in one of the corners, shivered uncomfortably. It wasn't the first time he had to do that, but damn if the coldness didn't prompt his balls into attempting to shrivel right back into his body.

The Nest wasn't any warmer than their cages were, and there were no luxuries, either. Except for old toilet with ancient sink, there was nothing even remotely inclined to make the room's occupants' lives comfortable.

Besides… He had an uncomfortable feeling on his back, as if he were observed, studied… and found a suitable prey.

He ignored the bellows of the raging behemoths, perfectly content in letting the two imbeciles kill each other.

Any shred of compassion had been squeezed out of him early on – besides, the post-traumatic stress syndrome did wonders for his psyche to change him in an unfeeling bastard. At first, he had tried to be compassionate, but his efforts were in vain, and more often than not, they were discouraged, either by the individuals he tried to help or by virtue of strong electric shock.

* * *

Dark brown eyes locked onto this… _person._ No, he did not know his name. And he didn't give a flying fuck about anything or everything else. He knew that the man had to be dangerous though – no one with such amount of scars was a rookie in the arena. A scar on his chest twanged in sympathy, making him wince.

He made his way to the enigma cautiously, making sure not to rouse attention of the two brawling behemoths.

* * *

The gray-eyed man approached the slender one. In some ways, he was being reminded of his rival, Eyeshield 21, but his… _prey…_ behaved characteristically like certain blonde devil – at least on battlefield.

He was… curious.

Of what, he didn't know.

* * *

Harry watched the approaching duo warily. They got him into pincer formation – and Harry really disliked to be cornered. However, he was confused. The duo approached with… no killing intent? He shifted slightly – not too much but if the two of them wanted to cause trouble… well, he was equipped to deal with it.

Both of them were tall – taller than him, obviously, and with deceptively lithe bodies. Their muscles were slender, not grotesquely big, but normal, as if they were swimmers. They were of Asian descent – at least one was full Asian, what with the color of his eyes, but the other one had curiously steel gray eyes that didn't gave up nothing. It was as if he were not a human, but a robot – an android in human skin.

Mentioning skin, both of them had some impressive scars – the swordsman had one that stretched across his chest – a nasty looking one, and Harry dimly remembered the cause of such scars. Plasma whips were a bitch to combat against, because they were reasonably long-ranged, and you couldn't halt one, because of… well, plasma. You could only dodge the damned thing and pray you would get something equally long-ranged to beat the fucker who wielded the thing. There were some smaller, jagged scars on his legs, but the most catching was the one on his chest. However, Harry was wondering, just what were the idiots smoking when they decided to send him into the Nest, still only partially healed. Slaughterhouse was no holiday resort, that was true, and to send an injured person in, there was almost 100 percent guaranteed that the poor fucker would come out only in body bag.

The other one – gray eyed one, was in better condition, although the jagged scars on his thighs were anything but pleasant. The serrated looking wounds were half-scabbed and undoubtedly painful when moving – Harry knew that, as he had a pair or two of such scars himself.

There were claw wounds on the broad shoulders, as if some demented overgrown feline decided he would be interesting scratching post- the claw wounds were black with sickly green… _something, _oozing out.

The three of them ignored the roars and bellows of the behemoth duo, their eyes centered on approaching, or in the duo's case, waiting person.

"_Who are you?"_ The swordsman asked, his voice graveling past the chapped lips.

Harry blinked. "I don't understand." He said back, words choppy on his tongue. Damn it, he never did learn Japanese – but then again, he never expected to be in need to understand and use the blasted language.

* * *

Gray eyes widened minutely as he heard swordsman speak. _"You are Japanese."_ He concluded, making the swordsman's head whip around swiftly. _"Yes."_ The… Japanese… spoke out curtly.

A short staring match later, they turned to Harry. "Who… is you?" The swordsman grated out with difficulty, grimacing at his pronunciation.

Harry blinked. "Not important." He answered shortly. "You threat or ally?"

The swordsman's eyes flashed at the challenge, hidden in that voice. He turned to the melee fighter.

"_He asked… if we were threat or ally." _

Melee fighter blinked. _"Ally. "_ He grated out, his eyes looking briefly at the still squabbling behemoths. _"Against them. Together." _He motioned to the snarling idiots, his face expressionless.

The swordsman blinked. _"You are right. Truce until then?"_ The melee fighter nodded. He pointed to himself. "_Shin."_

A small quirk of lips was almost invisible, as the swords fighter repeated the gesture. _"Sanada."_

Before he pointed to Harry, his eyebrows quirked slightly in challenge.

Harry blinked. Therefore, the melee fighter was called Shin, and swordsman was Sanada.

And because they introduced themselves, he was now forced to do the same.

He sighed. Moody's words of _'CONSTANT VIGILANCE!_' still echoed in his head. Besides, they could just as easily gave him their fake names.

He looked at them, before slowly pointing at himself. "Harry." He got his name out slowly. There wasn't any reason not to tell them, as a probability to see them again, was close to zero.

* * *

They watched him, as he hesitantly lifted his head, placing a palm on his scarred chest. "Hari." Their… prey named himself slowly.

_Hari._

What a fitting name. Of course, Sanada doubted the stranger gave them his true name, but whatever. For some reason, it was important to him to know the man's name. And for some reason, his eyes slid up and down the slender form in front of him, and he felt something he hadn't felt in a long, long time.

Desire.

Shin watched the man, too. His musculature. His movements. And his eyes. That shade of green was like an acid – sneaking into his mind, and enslaving it with it's' toxicity. That shade of green was impossible to replicate – the closest Shin could compare it to, was the clearest, biggest and most expensive emeralds, and even then, those colored rocks could catch only a glimpse of color of those fey eyes.

The sound nearly startled him from his observation of the enigma, but he knew the man's name.

'_Hari.'_

He wanted Hari.

* * *

The behemoths were lucky to avoid the confrontation with the dangerous duo – Harry didn't register in their minds, simply because Harry faded into obscurity, using the behemoths' stupidity against them.

But luck has the unfortunate habit on running out sooner than later, and just like that, one of the behemoths was stupid enough to think that Shin would make for a good plaything.

With a bellowing war cry he attacked the slender man who was staring at Hari, who was cobbling together something that was – or was not similar to weapon. They were allies, sure – Shin still had an uneasy feeling about Sanada, but that was more because of Sanada's heated stares at Hari, which irked Shin for some reason.

The behemoth screeched as something was lodged in his eye, making Shin more aware of his surroundings.

"_What the fuck are you __doing!__"_ Sanada roared at him, dark eyes blazing. Shin glared at him, before swiftly turning around and using a Spear Tackle to get the behemoth down, before having to dodge the behemoth's flailing fist.

The gray-eyed man gulped. If it weren't for Sanada's superior throwing skills, Shin would be in a great deal of trouble. No matter if he had greater strength than the stupid beast, anyone could get a lucky shot – that was the first thing he had learned when they brought him here.

However, Hari had fascinated him to the point his awareness of surroundings dropped drastically.

Because he had to deal with those... body reactions of his. He remembered something Takami-senpai said about such situations, and that it was supposed to happen when you fancied someone – did that mean Shin_ fancied _Hari?

Snarling angrily at being roused from his contemplation of this new… _development,_ he got straight for the kill.

A dying shriek and the behemoth was dead.

_Trident Tackle_ – evolved in a _Diamond Spear_, was one hell of a weapon.

* * *

Harry twitched. The second behemoth had more smarts, or at least survival insticts, and avoided the trio for some time, but the testerostene overcame his tiny brain, and he attacked. Sanada was not amused, being saved by _Shin _of all people, and Harry was wary of the brewing tension between his two…_ unofficial _protectors. No matter how the things went, it was bound to be ugly.

Moreover, against those two… Harry had gone against all kinds of odds in his short and relatively exciting life, but going against the two of them was just not advisable. Not that he couldn't win, but those two were not dumb idiots like his previous opponents were.

They were just too damn intelligent, and just then, Harry hated that particular trait. Until now, he didn't use his magic, and if the worse came to worst, he would have to, the Secrecy Act be damned.

And be that it as may, they somehow grew on him, the bastards.

Harry sighed silently.

Yup, he was in big, deep trouble with capital T.

_**/To Be Continued/**_


	11. I Want Tomorrow

_I WANT TOMORROW_

_

* * *

_

_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own Harry Ptter ot Transformers. I only own this lil' story.

_**Summary:**_ The war os done and over with, but Harry has other plans than his would – be (fan)girl Ginny Weasley. He wants tomorrow. It's slash. The song is from Enya.

_**Shout Out:**_ Oh, well – I was humming this song, and suddenly there it is. Enjoy the reading.

_**Warnings:**_ Timeline out of whack, _**slash – Optimus/Harry/Megatron**_, and a whole lot of Cybertronians lurking about. Blatant disregarding of original series.

* * *

_Dawn breaks; _

_There's blue in the sky_

_

* * *

_

The dawn has broken. It was clear, and a little crispy air that hung around thir heads like some kind of invisible veil.

It was shaping to be a beautiful day – the blue of the dawning sky was a wonder to look at, after so many motns of worry, anger and war.

A black – haired young man inhlaled a lungful of the air slowly, savoring the slight sting in his nostrils. Winter would be soon upon them, and the musty scents of departing summer and hesistating autumn were swirling around him - hay and old leaves and ther scent of recent rain.

He was clothed in a simple jeans with frayed edges and sturdy boots with slightly oversized dark blue pullover and the black cloak on his shouldes. His black hair was messy as ever, and slightly damp with the morning dew, indicating he had to be standing here for quite some time.

His face was young but weary, with green eyes behind bottle glasses – at the first sight you would say he was a typical nerd.

But don't let those first impressions deceive you.

This young man – a teen, really – was Harry James Potter – and as of last night, a winner over Voldemort, the Darkest Lord since Grindelwald.

But why didn't he celebreate with other witches and wizards?

Why was he standing here, at the cusp of the dawn, green eyes watching the horizon, as if waiting for something -

* * *

_Your face before me, _

_Though, I don't know, why_

_

* * *

_

Green eyes blinked slowly. For some reason, his thought turned to one Ginny Weasley. Strange. He hadn't thought much about the red-haired youngest Weasley, ever since this idiotic was between Dark and Light had begun – he didn't have time, really, and for some reason, the longer he was away frim her, the quieter that beast in his chest was.

Last night, when he came back from slewing the snake bastard – he didn't told them just how he accomplished that feat, citing weariness and pleading for some peace – the head of the Voldemort appeased the masses, and for once, Dumbledore was benevolent enough to let him rest.

Ginny had jumped him, nuzzling her nose in his neck, and instead of accepting her enbracing her possesively, he only hugged her, before prying her away. The beast in his chest was quiet, even when she had tried to kiss him.

Before, he would gladly claim her lush lips and enjoyed the sensation of her body against his, but not now. Not ever.

Not even the scent of her, enticing as it was, did him in.

When he extracted himself from her, she looked at him, with hurt expression on her face. Strangely, he wasn't moved by it. Usually, he would be apologizing over and over, for hurting her and pleaded for one more chance –

Closing his eyes he let the image of her float in front of his eyes. Yes, she grew up – she was still thin and tomboyish, and the war left some shades in her eyes, but she was still mostly unchanged from the ordeal. She would be a good companion to someone, but not to him.

Thoughts disappearing like tears from the moon…

With ease, he banished the images and memories, associated with one Ginny Weasley back into his mind. The warmth of the sun on his skin called a small smile on his lips, as he thought of them.

His comrades.

His lovers.

His family.

* * *

_Waiting here, as I sit by the stone,_

_

* * *

_

»Harry?« She asked hesistantly. He didn't acknowledge her as she timidly approached him. Ginny bit her lip. »Are you – Are you alright?« she queried, almost fearing the answer.

Last night, when he came back, with Voldemort's head in his hand –

He was different.

And she noticed the change.

At first, she attributed it to him being in war – but no war would strip him of his feelings toward her so surely, as if they never existed. Her gut twisted at this possibility. Even a dose of Amortentia, sprayed unobtrusively on her skin, did nothing to ignite his desire for her.

Was that because he knew she had cheated on him with –

No. He couldn't. He would have been angry, if that was the case.

She gulped.

* * *

He was different. So different from that angry and moody youth that Ginny was stumped. It was, as if he had grown up over the course of the was, as if he had returned not a boy, but a full-grown man.

It made Ginny timid and insecure – she had frolicked with boys, she knew how to get them to dance on her tune, so to speak, but this was a man and men were entirely different kettle of fish, so to speak.

»Don't worry about me, Ginerva.« She flinched at him calling her name. They always called her Ginny, except the times she had made some stupid mistake, like that diary – and she honestly didn't know it would be so dangerous, to write into one!

But Harry, calling her that, without anger, as if he was some kind of a cordial stranger – it made her flinch and worry. It was as if she meant nothing to him.

»But you are talking… strange.« She muttered, looking at the sunrise. »Like you are an old man.«

She hear a rustle of his clothes, as he sighed and moved. »I've changed. You've changed. Did you really think we would be the same?« He asked her evenly, making her gulp.

When she looked at him, he was sitting by the stone, his eyes looking into the sun.

»Um… You changed so much.« she admitted. »But we are still together, aren't we?« She asked her voice hopeful.

Her heart dropped as he shook his head.

* * *

»I have a family. » He told her. » And I'm sorry, but we are not. Together, I mean.«

»W – Why not?« she choked our, her eyes filling with tears. »Am I not good enough?«

Harry sighed. »I don't want to hurt you.« He whispered. »We are simply not – not compatible.«

He looked at her. She was clothed in a maroon coloured pullover and knee-length brown skirt, tucked into plaid cloak. Her hair was longer and messy, as she didn't bother to pull it into her customary ponytail. She was tall and slender, still a tomboy.

»Do you have another girl?« She growled out, her brown eyes glinting dangerously as she fished out her wand.

Harry sighed.

* * *

_'Do I really have to deal with __her?'_ He whined in his head making his mates chuckle at his childish antics. _'Hurry up and save me already, guys!'_

_'Patience, sweetspark,'_ A gruff voice murmured_. 'We are on the way - keep the fort down, and I will reward you… later.'_

Inside, Harry pouted. _'Meanie,'_ He grumbled out. _'How do you know I won't go to him first?_' Instantly he felt a bristle from one and a chuckle from another_. 'Now, now, little raven, be patient. We will be there soon, I promise. '_

_'You'd better, '_ Harry groused. _'Otherwise, I will sic trine and the twins on your afts.'_

_

* * *

_

He felt an acute sense of horror from his mates and a muted amusement from the rest of his family. _'What about us?' _ One of them mock-pouted. _'You'd think we are just pieces of scrap metal, what with him igoring us,'_ The other ageed, his mind – voice lamenting, making Harry flush with anger. _''Cade! 'Hide!'_ He yelped back, before he streamed an unconscious slew of curses, making his new family appaled, horrified and amused.

_'… Is that even anatomically possible?'_ One of the twins asked, snickering. A moment later, Harry heard a yelp – no doubt that certain nameless person had just used their favourite wrench.

* * *

He chuckled, startling the red-haired girl slightly.

»H - Harry?« she asked timidly.

Harry's eyes were now full of mirth, as if he had thought up something particularly funny.

»Yes, Ginerva?« He asked, good-naturedly.

Ginny ignored the use of her name. »How did you – um… Kill Voldemort?« She inquired, instantly sobering her green-eyed companion.

Harry shrugged. »It doesn't matter. And even if I told you, you wouldn't believe me.«

Ginny gritted her teeth in frustration. »I so would!« she insisted. »I live in wizarding world and there's nothing that I wouldn't believe you.«

Harry sighed. »Lay off of it, Gin,« He advised her gently.

Ginny narrowed her eyes.

»Does it have anything about you having a new family?« she asked shrewdly.

* * *

_They came before me, _

_Those men from the Sun_

_

* * *

_

_**/FLASHBACK/**_

Harry sighed, as he wiped the sweat off of his forehead. A week until the Horcrux hunt. Oh, joy. He grumbled inwardly. This summer day was abnormally hot, and almost all of the residents were hidden in their identical-looking houses. From the distance, Harry could hear the television and Dudley playing his Playstation. Aunt Petunia was in her bedroom, complaining about her headache, and Vernon was watching the news.

And Harry was out, on the front yard, weeding the garden.

Life so was not fair. Not for one Harry James Potter.

»Are you Harry James Potter?« A cultured voice asked, making the sweaty boy jerk reflexively for his wand, as he looked up.

»Yeah; who is asking?« Harry asked. A moment later, he berated himself for the dumb question. For all he knew it could be a Death Eater in a disguise – but Harry's Gryffindor side was naive enough to believe that no Death Eater could be polite to a fault. In his general opinion, Death Eaters shot first, and asked questions later.

He looked into those intense blue eyes.

* * *

A cop.

Harry gulped.

_'Oh, crap.'_

_

* * *

_

»I am Barricade and I would like to talk with you, boy.« The gruff voice of the policeman made Harry fidget.

»Uh… Did I do something wrong?« Harry asked hesitantly.

The police chuckled. »Primus, no… but it's not that. It's about your family.« He looked at the evil ball of heat, known as sun. »And I think both of us could do with someplace with cooler climate than this.«

Harry gulped. »Uh… If you say so,« He agreed cautiously, making the stern cop smile.

* * *

_Signs from the heavens say,_

_I am T__he One_

_

* * *

_

The first contact was, to say it mildly… shocking. In span of one day, Harry's entire life and system of beliefs was torn and reassembled upside down.

He got a new family – Starscream was delighted with his little brother, and promised to teach him how to fly properly, First Aid and Ratchet were fussing over him like overgrown mother hens, the Twins were delighted with his stories about pranks and pranking supplies, and both Barricade and Ironhide swore to protect the litltle sweetspark from those Death Chompers, or whatever they were. They even played _Rock Paper Scissors _for getting the dibs on one snake-face. No one hurt their honorary nephew and got away with it! Sadly, Starscream bonked both on them on their heads and called the dibs as Harry's big brother – which prompted another argument. Bumblebee was just happy he wasn't the youngest anymore… theoretically speaking. If compared in human ages, then Harry was younger than Bumblebee, but if you got the Cybertronian years in the account, Harry had the seniority on the yellow mech. Red Alert was intrigued with _'magic' _and with so-called _Fidelius._ However, with the recount of Harry's adventures, his CPU almost crashed, because it was illogical to throw one sparkling in such overwhelming amount of danger. No mech was happy with that, and if it weren't for Harry stopping them, both sides of the factions would flatten the magic-wielding squishies like cockroaches.

* * *

The leaders were entirely different story. Since they found out about Starscream's little brother, they were ready to accept the sparkling – the sparkling's subconscious cry was also the reason for the both sides to declare a ceasefire. It was a strange sight – one moment they were clawing all out at each other's throats, and the next, they stiffened – all of them, and then, Starscream morphed in his alf form, zooming away at the breakneck speed, unusual even for a Cybertoronian. All Megatron got from him was that this sparkling was his little brother – the same little brother Starscream had thought deceased, before the war on Cybertron hit full force.

* * *

Nobody knew how, but apparently Nightwing had survived. Allspark be damned, but Starscream wanted his little brother – he still didn't forgive himself for not taking care of his little brother until this day.

The search had stretched for two and half weeks – it seemed that something was muting the signal, and the form of sparkling was nowhere to be seen. It frustrated Starscream something terrible, but luckily, Frenzy got a hit on something, and Barricade was sent to observe. Apparently, the number 4 in Privet Drive, England, was somewhat of an anomaly, because of the high output of energy. Not an electrical one, but other kind. It was not exactly Cybertronian one, but the signs were there.

And Barricade was curious enough to solve the little dilemma. What he got, even he didn't expect.

It was a child - a scrawny, underfed, black – haired teen with the greenest optics he had ever seen.

And in that sweltering heat, Barricade decided – come Pit or high water, he would be there for this little sweetspark.

* * *

When both Optimus and Megatron saw the sparkling, something clicked. It was, as if their sparks were finally complete; and in that single moment, even Megatron, however big of a sourpuss he was, believed the old Terran legends about soulmates. Harry – or Nightwing, as Starscream called him, was their sparkmate.

* * *

Of course, Harry had some trouble believing that, but he was quickly convinced – Ratchet was ectatc at the little one's abilities with repairing machines, and declared Nightwing his apprentice. He and Red Alert almost came to the blows over the issue, until Harry suggested that both of them teach him. Harry had an unusual aptitude for machines, and it showed – not that Dursleys knew about that. But understanding Cybertonian as if it were your spoken and written language – despite of supposedly never speaking or writing in it, convinced Harry completely. It also explained just why didn't the blood wards work efficiently.

* * *

Harry was surprised with their forms, and even pouted at the unfairness of him not having one. Apparently one James and Lily Potter screwed up more than just protecting him. Despite of all that, he was happy to fly either in Starscream or Megatron's cockpit. He even gave the Decepticon leadedr a Spark attack when Megatron was dumb enough to let Harry near his controls – the Wronski feint wasn't for those with bad nerves, and even if Cybertronians didn't have nerves as such, Megatron still claimed that Harry had aged him for at least ten vorns. Optimus had laughed at his brother, but when he saw the manever via the hologram, he very nearly came to kidnapping their little daredevil and locking him in a room for at least three vorns. The twins were suitably impressed – it took someone with real balls to make Megatron scream like a little girl, and Starscream walked around like a proud peacock for a week. First Aid and Ratchet were _not_ amused, and Megatron earned a nice whack from Ratchet's infamous wrench for his stupidity, much to the other Cybertronians' delight. _That _stunt, the twins swore, will be made immortal in the Hall of Fame – or for Megatron, in Hall of Shame. Nobody wanted to stop Megatron chasing the twin troublemakers – it was easier and more fun to just watch them.

* * *

And their leaders' mating dance around the oblivious Nightwing was also a source of amusement for all the watchers.

Harry was just happy to have his family, unusual as it was, and suddenly, his task of destroying those pieces of slag, as Ratchet named them, was seeing to be much easier than a week before.

**/END FLASH****BACK/**

**

* * *

**

_Now I – I can see your light – _

_The light, that I must follow_

_

* * *

_

»Yes.« He answered to her bluntly. »They helped me destroy him.« Ginny blinked. »Oh.« she breathed. »So why didn't you introduce them to us?« Harry snorted. »And have them being asked, prodded and whined at all all times?« he asked dryly. »No, thanks. Besides, they don't want to have anything with the wizarding world. In their opinion, the wizarding world is pathetically backwards and they wouldn't trust these pit-spawns even if their lived depended on it.« Ginny bristled. »We are not backwards,« she barked our angrily. »We can live longer than Muggles, travel on air, we have cures for almost any imaginable sickness, and if we would go to war with the Muggles, we would win!« She almost screamed the last words out. As she finished her tirade, she panted with exertion and her face was flushed red with anger.

* * *

Harry snorted. »As I said, you are backward. True, your cures can best anything currently in Muggle world, but that is only one good point. You can live longer than Muggles, I concur that. As for traveling on air, Muggles are travelling in space. Can you say anything like this about wizards? You watch the planets, Muggles are actively researching them with their machines. It won't be long until the day technology would be advanced to such degree the Muggles would not only travel in space, but live on other planets, too. You can kill one with your Avada Kedavra curse. I say Muggles could kill millions – billions even, with one atomic bomb. Besides, if you even went in a war against them, you would be overwhelmed. You wand-wavers have pathetic numbers – half a billion at most. There's still five point five billions of Muggles living on this planet, not including the other sentient species.«

* * *

With each spoken word, Ginny became paler and paler.

»Face it, Ginny. You've lost.« Harry concluded his speech quietly.

The quiet humming interrupted their conversation.

Harry's face brightened. »Is that them?« Ginny asked quietly.

Harry nodded. »Yes.« He replied.

Ginny watched, her mouth agape, as the two of the strangest looking birds landed in fronf of them.

The cocklits of those strange birds opened, and out climbed two men.

»Starscream! Megatron!« Harry called, beaming, before he began to run to them.

The wild – haired man smiled at Harry, before he effortlessly jumped from the wing. Harry almost bowled him with the force of his hug.

* * *

»Oy, slow down, sweetspark,« Starscream chuckled, before both of them laughed. Ginny's eyes widened at the man's appearance. Starscream was clothed in black trousers and some kind of military wine red and white jacket that accented his deep red hair and garnet eyes. He had a flawless pale face, and his hands were encased in white gloves. The golden and red epaulettes shone in the sun, makig him fragile like crystal. If Fleur would have seen him, Ginny thought, dazed, Bill wouldn't have a chance in Hell to get her.

The other man jumped on the ground just as gracefully as the red-haired companion. »I should' ve punished you for your stunt, sweetspark,« A gruff voice announced, making Ginny shiver with both fear and delight. This man was undoubtedly a leader – clad in similar black trousers, and plum colored jacket with red and black accents with golden epaulets and wide gold ribbon on his sleeves. His face was stern and a little weathered from the years, but still smooth, colored in the gentlest bronze shades, that contrasted with red eyes and silver hair and eyebrows. In his white gloved hands, he held a black whip.

Both of the men were thaller than Harry, but Megatron practically towered over Starscream, which wasn't tiny by any means.

* * *

Harry blushed at the man's words. »What did I do this time?« he pouted, making Starscream chuckle, and Ginny gape at his playful gesture. »Oh, I don't know, » Megatron began casually. »Sneaked away before either first Aid or Ratched got their hands on you, making Optimus spazz in process, along with Red Alert and both your uncles« – He purred dangerously, as he strode forward, to the slightly cowering form of the Savior of Wizarding World – »Do you even know how much trouble you will be in, when we got back?«

Harry groaned. »It's _that_ bad?« he turned to smirking Starscream helplessly.

»Yes, it's _that_ bad.« A smooth voice interrupted them. Megatron scowled a little, while Harry paled.

* * *

Ginny whirled around. And there he stood, the yummiest male specimen she had ever saw in her life.

»What were you even _thinking,_ sweetspark?« The male growled, as he strode forward, making Harry squeak and back into Megatron.

* * *

He was tall – not as tall as Megatron, but tall enough. He was clad in black trousers, with dark blue and black jacket with gold epaulets. His face was of a man in his prime with deep blue eyes and blueish black hair. The only thing that confused Ginny, was the strange blueish – colored visor connected with earphones with attenaes where the young man's ears should be.

Harry gulped. »O – Optimus..« He stuttered weakly. »Uh… Hi?«

* * *

The man stared at him, dark eyes blazing at the green eyes. »When we'll get home, you know what to expect…« He muttered at harry's throatily.

Harry groaned.

Megatron smirked. »Are you thinking what I am thinking, little brother?« He questioned now-named Optimus, red eyes glittering deviously. Optimus smirked an unholy smirk.

»Yep. And stop calling me little!« He grumbled back, making Megatron smirk in response.

»Oh Primus, I am doomed,« Harry whimpered.

* * *

Ginny blinked.

Then, it hit her.

»Harry… Are you leaving?« she asked slowly.

* * *

»Give the femme a reward for stating the obvious,« Megatron commented dryly, only to be punished with Harry punching his shoulder.

Harry turned to her, his face serious again. »Yes. I did it – I killed Voldemort. There's nothing in this world for me. I have my family elsewhere. So I am leaving with my family.«

Ginny gulped. »But I love you!« She tried again. »And you promised me – »

Megatron stepped forward threateningly. »You dare to blackmail our sweetspark into staying with you, you worthless squishy?« he sneered out.

* * *

Ginny gulped. »His promise is binding,« she insisted.

Starscream was not amused. There was this red-haired bint, trying to steal his long – lost brother away from him – »You would want to steal my brother from me?« he asked, his voice deathly calm.

»He's not your brother.« Ginny blustered. »He's the only son of James and Lily Potter. »

Starscream's eyes widened. And then, he chuckled. »You cunning little sweetspark, » he said to his brother, affectionately ruffling that wild hair. » And for your information, » he turned to the trembling girl, »Harry is not their son. Adopted, yes, but that's all he is. Pit, he isn't even a human!«

Ginny jerked at that revelation. Wide brown eyes looked at the flushed teen between the two leaders. »It's that true?« She whispered. »Harry, is that true – that you are – are inhuman?«

* * *

Harry ceased his nuzzling into that fragrant blue jacket. »What?« he asked carelessly. »Of course it is. What, you thought that the Power the Dark Lord knew not was love? So sorry, but that wasn't true. Many mothers had died for their children – if I were a human, I would be no exception.« He concluded matter – of – factly. »So, the only other reason was, I am not human.«

* * *

»S – So what are you?« Ginny whispered, as her hand moved to her wand.

»Leave your wand alone, little girl,« Starscream ordered, making Ginny freeze.

So that was why Amortentia didn't have any influence on him, Ginny concluded bitterly.

»He's ours,« Optimus told her simply. »And even if he stayed with you, he would have outlived you… by millenias.«

* * *

Ginny gulped. »But Light needs you, Harry!« She insisted, barely holding her tears in her eyes. Harry shook his head. »I need you!« Ginny told him. »I don't care about your lovers, just come back to me!«

She ignored the stiffening of Optimus'and Megatron's bodies.

Harry glared at her.

»Hell, no.« he told her bluntly. »I found my family, and I have my lovers. Why would I want you?« He told her coldly. »Don't think I didn't know about your shenanigans with Dean and Seamus.«

* * *

Ginny backed away, horrified.

»You - You knew?« she whispered, horrified.

Calm green eyes stared at her. »Yes, I did. Skywarp was kind enough to look after you, in case the Death Farts would attack you. I thought you'd wait for me; obviously, I was mistaken.«

Ginny hung her head.

She was defeated, and she knew it.

* * *

_You – you could thake my life away – so far away – _

_Now, I must leave your spell…_

… _I want tomorrow_

_

* * *

_

Harry looked at the defeated girl pityingly. He could have, would have returned back to her – if circumstances were different. If he had been the true son of potters, if he was desperate enough for family and love to accept the leftovers, like a hungry stray dog.

But he was not – he was Nightwing, brother of Starscream, and lover of Megatron and Optimus, protector of the Allspark and honorary nephew to Barricade and Ironhide, and honorary cousin to the twins and Bumblebee… along with being special victim of First Aid and Ratchet.

At first, he hardly accepted his new lot in life – not being human, not having parents he thought he had – but when he did, there was hope and there was tomorrow.

He smiled at the thought of future. Personally, he was done with Wizarding World. He didn't belong there, since the start. He didn't belong with Muggles, that was true. However, he had a luck of finding and belonging to his true family… and he wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.

* * *

_**Letter Order of Phoenix, as dictated by Harry**__** James Potter now named - ? – **_

_Dear O__rder_

_As you have found out by now, undoubtedly from Ginny, I left the Wizarding World. If you ask me why, I have more than enough reasons. I never did belong to this world – James and Lily Potter adopted me – the real Harry Potter was a stillborn, and is buried in Godrics Hollow, along with his parents. The couple found me, and adopted me with an ancient and dark ritual, forcing their DNA and ablities on me. And that was the cause of me survivng the curse. It was not Lily's love – of that was it, then all the babes, protected by their mothers from Avada Kedavra curse, would be alive today. That was also the reason of the blood wards not working as they should, and any other magical anomalies since then. _

_I was not magical, since beginning, but the ritual forced the magic onto me. Luckily, both my energy and magic accepted each other, and I managed to exist. _

_Last summer, I found the beings, similar to me – or i should say, they found me. They also helped me to destroy the Horcruxes – who knew that plasma cannons or swords work just as good, if not better than Basilisk fang? With them, I found family and later on, lovers. So there0s no reason for me to return back to the world who isn't mine to begin with, but that scorned and praised me for the most ridiculous things they could think up. _

_Don't search for me. Don't even try. You won't find us. _

_**Ron:**__ You are a great chess player and good friend – when you are not consumed with jealously. Fame isn't anything it's cracked up to be. I leave you my Firebolt and 2000 Galleons. _

_**Hermione:**__ Think with your own head – authority isn't always right. You were a great friend, and I am happy to know you. Go to trip or two around the world – life isn't only about books work and grades. I leave you 2000 Galleons and my wand. _

_**Gred and Forge:**__ I am happy to know you, and I look forward to your pranks. I leave you 3000 Galleons and Olde Booke Of Prenke The Moste Hilarious by Marauders. Keep it up, guys!_

_**Professor Lupin:**__ Thank you for your kindness; you've helped me greatly. However, don't let the other people dictate you what you should or shouldn't do. Find some pretty witch and marry her. Oh, and there is also a trust vault for you with 4500 Galleons – and Grimmauld place. Use it well, Moony. _

_**Pro**__**fessor Snape:**__ We didn't always see eye to eye, and even if you don't beleve it, I respected you. Thank you for grounding me and your help in locating Horcruxes. I leave you Lily's diaries and 2500 Galleons, along with Lily's cottage._

_**Professor Minerva:**__ You were strict and fair, but sometimes, you just got to believe the kids. Anyway, I leave you James' Transfiguration diaries and 2000 Galleons. _

_**Professor Moody:**__ Your advice saved my skin more times than i could count. So thanks. I leave you the invisibility cloak, as I trust you to use it well. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!_

_**Tonks:**__ I leave you Black properties and accept you back into the Noble and Ancient House of Black. I also name you a Head of House of Black. Happy hunting of certain werewolf. _

_**:**__ Thank you for accepting me in your family. For you, there are books about working of electricity and 2000 Galleons. Once again, thank you._

_**Mrs. Weasley:**__ Thank you, you made me feel welcome. I leave to you Godric sHollow – don't worry, it's already renovated, and 2000 Galleons. Enjoy. _

_**Bill:**__ I didn't know you too well, but oh, well. 5000 Galleons for you two with Fleur – and do spend some honeymoons – enclosed are tickets for Hawaii, magical section. It's already paid, and the password for portkey is 'Happiness'._

_**Charile:**__ I wish I knew more about you. For you, there's some books form Potter Library about dragons, and 2000 Galleons. Do be careful, okay?_

_**Percy:**__ I don't have anything to say to you, except enjoy your marriage with Penelope. 5000 Galleons and a small cottage on the Isle Sorna._

_**Dumbledore:**__ Headmaster, it's time for you to retire. I leave you the wand – you know which one – and the Potter Library. Do let Remus use it sometimes. Also, I leave you a lifetime supply of woolen socks. _

_**Dobby:**__ Thanks for the help. One last request from me – help to renovate Grimmauld Place and take care of them, will you? _

_**Ginny:**__ Grow up a little. The world isn't made of the pink cotton balls and sugar quills. True love isn't gained with help of a love potion. And I owe Wizarding world nothing, If anything, they owe everything to me. I leave you 1000 Galleons, and I use the Life Debt and demand you would never, in any way, shape or form cause harm to me or mine, directly or indirectly. _

_**Wizarding World:**__ I don't owe you nothing. Voldemort is dead. His Horcruxes were destroyed. I warn you now; don't let the prejudices fester, or you will be subjected to even worse Dark Lord then the now deceased Voldemort had been. I, Harry James Potter hereby do leave the Wizarding World with no intention to ever return. So it is said, so more it be._

_Signed: Harry James Potter, now - ? - _

_**/Finished/**  
_


	12. One Winged Angel

_ONE WINGED ANGEL_

* * *

_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own _Final Fantasy VII_ or _Harry Potter._ _/shrugs/_ This story, however, is mine. _/hoards it protectively/_

_**Summary:**_ We know about Sephiroth's Mother. But what 'bout his father? Surely, those green eyes had to come from somewhere... even if they are from different dimension.

_**Shout Out:**_ Found this, formatted it in electronic shape and here you go. The last chapter I've posted in _**Scrapbook Jewels**_ -_** I Want Tomorrow –**_ is written more like a conclusion, while all others (with exception of _**The Dragon And His Kitten - **__)_ are possible prequels to stories in future. Because of that, the writing style is different /whispers/ - not creepy enough _- /clears throat/_ is more like a conclusion or an overview of the entire story. My bad. It seems I got out of habit of writing song fics. Enjoy reading.

_**Warnings:**_ Uhh... First thing_**, I messed with timelines.**_ In this one, Sephiroth doesn't destroy Nibelheim, although Jenova does call to him. Harry is his father, but he doesn't age significantly, because of temporal differences. Sephiroth is adult, while Harry is still a teenager, blame magic, wormholes and Hojo's experiments. Harry was caught and Hojo had a_ bright_ idea _/sarcastic/_ to use Harry's... babymakers... for creating Sephiroth, along with Jenova's cells and Lucrecia's eggs. Jenova's and Harry's influence basically destroyed Lucrecia's genetic makeup, so, Sephiroth is different from his... birth mother. He has his father's eye colour and reflexes, anything else (except the gender and magic), is Jenova's makeup. Harry was freed by some rebels who later hide him and later on take him for their own. Gawd, I rambled too much._ /winces/. _By the way, our darling little Sephy-bear has a crush on Harry. /_Leers happily/_ Yup, Daddy-complex. All hail Daddy-complex. /_mutters/_ Even if Sephiroth is way too old to have one, but what the heck, let's run with that idea. With that I proclaim this official _**Sephiroth/Harry slash!**_

_**

* * *

**_

"I should have killed you for besmirching my Mother,« the tall, silver-haired man rasped out, in front of him, there kneeled the one man who dared to ignite Sephiroth's fury. Green eyes, so alike his, yet more wizened, older and dare he think – tired? – stared at his face fearlessly. »You would. You should.« The damned voice was so young and so fucking _gentle _and _understanding,_ it made Sephiroth squeeze Masamune's handle with all his might, his hand trembling, as he levelled the blade at the fragile dark – haired man.

Distinctly, he heard the creak of the enforced wooden handle, felt the tiny crack inder the wraps and it seemed that with the light shimmering against the naked blade, that Masamune itself was crying - »But will you?« the soft voice asked him gently.

Sephiroth gulped.

* * *

Those fucking eyes – those eyes, whose colour he saw in the mirror almost every day, so green and light and dark, like pyre flies he watched his opponents turn into, after he had slain them, the colour of death –

He steeled himself, as the hand with the sword lifted, as to prepare to take another life with a single arch of silver, leaving behind only death, blood and a small breeze.

The man in front of him was smaller than him – really, he only came up to Sephiroth's chest – and he was like a bird, so fragile and yet so strong, Sephiroth could easily say he was the only one to coming to equal the SOLDIER's General and so called Perfect Warrior.

And why, why, _why,_ did his damned chest hurt so much, just by looking at that one man?

* * *

_Why_, by Cetra, did his throat have to clog up as if someone was trying to kill him with a dull pain throbbing through his larynx?

Why, then, did his eyes sting?

The man in front of him – why didn't he act hateful, terrified - even disappointment would be better that this… acceptance and serenity radiating from that youthful face with aged eyes. His stomach was coiled in painful knots. Hell, his whole body ached.

The battle had been ferocious, but they were winning, with Sephiroth at their side, the Silver General looking like a fallen angel, delivering death to all who were unfortunate enough to come under his blade.

* * *

Until _He_ came, locking his too-heavy sword with Masamune's shiny, thirsty blade, the sound loud and clear ringing through the battlefield.

It had been a sight for gods, for surely neither of them could be mortals wielding their swords like that, in a lethal, yet strangely beautiful dance of death.

They were too fast, too good – and for the first time, enemies and allies alike were treated to the sight of Sephiroth going all out.

He had lured Sephiroth out of the shrieks of battle, not that anyone cared – they were simply too exhausted, too tired – and then, they proceeded to beating the living shit out of each other.

* * *

Black versus Silver. Green against green. He had wounded Sephiroth, green eyes dark with grief and resolve.

Finally, Sephiroth managed to knock away the heavy sword form tired hands, his palms sweaty and bleeding with strain. And even then, he had to wound his smaller opponent pretty harsh; the feat which was not achieved easily, was a testament to the stranger's fighting ability. His sword was dull from the strong blows delivered to it, and Masamune was looking pretty battered, too.

»I – I – » Sephiroth gulped, his lips quivering.

He had seen him. He had dreamt of that man; the only dreams that he had been free to be himself. Just Sephiroth, the only time he could smile and laugh and not be such a cold bastard. He had dreamed of green eyes, sparkling with laughter and life, a body, pressed into his, embracing him into a warm hug, full of safety and comfort.

* * *

He had felt so cold, so fucking _cold,_ when he was woken up in cryo chamber to discover it all was a lie, a big, damned lie, but still, he longed; and so he began to listen to that slithery voice, and those dreams became dark, those bright eyes sad, and he still, still wanted… and slowly, he began to want something _more._

He told to no one of his desires, as he was conditioned to be perfectly emotionless, a perfect weapon.

* * *

So it had been a huge shock to see him. It was only for a moment, but it had been enough.

It was, as if the time was frozen, green eyes meeting with green, and it felt like an eternity, and then, it was all over – the time sped up again and the mysterious yet somewhat familiar stranger vanished into the crowd, much to Sephiroth's despair and frustration.

The sword was swung –

* * *

_**-Clang!-**_

- and it clattered on the frozen ground, silently gleaming beside the old battle sword as Sephiroth fell onto his knees. »I – I _CAN'T!_ Cetra help me, but _I can't!«_ It burst out of him in great sobs, lithe body, encased in black leather shaking under the force of repressed feelings that poured out of him in silent torrents. Dimly, he noted that it was a stupid thing to do, being weapon less within the enemy's range, but in that moment, he didn't give a flying fuck.

Hell, he could have been naked, and he wouldn't have cared.

* * *

He felt someone gently gathering his quaking body in a hesitant embrace. The body against him was small and trembling with effort, cold and exhaustion. Like a wounded animal, he hid his head in the smaller man's neck. »It – It's alright. I know« Sephiroth's sharp ears caught the whispered words effortlessly.

The hisses in his head became more vicious, more demanding, and Sephiroth closed his eyes. »Is – Is this real?« His voice was soft, hesitant. The dark – haired man nodded. »Yes, I am here. I am with you. You…« he paused, »Are not dreaming. » Gentle hand carded through that long, silky looking, silver mane that was Sephiroth's hair. »You've grown, angel.« Sephiroth stiffened at the soft endearment, he waited with bated breath.

»Did you learn to fly, I wonder? To reach for the sun – Oomph!« The dark-haired man squawked as Sephiroth tackled him.

»It's you! It's really you…_ Father_…« The excited, almost-shout ended in reverent whisper. A fresh wave of tears blurred his eyes. »Why? Why didn't you come for me?«

* * *

His father's face became full of sorrow. »I – I tried, Sephiroth. But they confined me, secure me so much – and I had to war that damnable collar – » Unconsciously. Sephiroth's eyes strayed to that slender throat, and narrowed in outrage.

»They did experiments on me – » The man continued silently. »Hojo was having his share of sick fun, trying to dissect me and talking about you, how you were growing up to be perfect soldier, how ruthless you were – » He choked up.

* * *

Sephiroth growled angrily, embracing the smaller male protectively. »A -And the dreams?« He asked, his voice soft and hesitant. »They were real… as real as they could be. They were my only way to see you, to be with you, to watch you grow up. But suddenly, I couldn't contact you anymore.« The man's voice thickened with pain. »The landscape darkened, and I was so terrified that something had happened to you - I was _mad _with worry, Sephiroth!«

* * *

Sephiroth winced. »Father, I – » He tried to tell something, _anything_, but the man interrupted him. »And then, whenever I saw you were so cold, your eyes so cruel – »

»But…« Sephiroth tried again, his heart breaking with pain at the agony the man had went through. He heard his voice hitching with pain. And he gulped. The soft voice continued, torturing Sephiroth further. »And I asked and wondered – »Where did my angel go?«

The evil substance around Sephiroth's heart writhed and coiled, the hissing in Sephiroth's thoughts increasing – but Sephiroth ruthlessly pushed it down.

He was being embraced again. And his body trembled. »I am glad I could see you one last time, angel.« Sephiroth blinked at the endearing words. Surely he had misheard them, hadn't he? His heart almost stopped when the implications hit him full-force.

»What – What are you talking about?« And then, another horrifying thought crept into his heart. »Is it because of me? Because I was bad?«

* * *

Green eyes widened. »For heavens' sake_, NO! I_ would _NEVER_ leave you, given the choice – I love you, you are my son, and _nothing_ would make me stop loving you!«

Sephiroth basked in the fierce glow that surrounded his father – so warm, so protective – Wait, _glow?_

He blinked.

And almost gaped in awe.

* * *

Gentle white light surrounded his father, almost golden at times, making the man seem like an angel he had told Sephiroth so many times about –

»They're summoning me back.«

»Back where?« Sephiroth whispered. Already, he had a sinking feeling in his gut. And the next words only confirmed it.

»I'm not of this world, Sephiroth. I was banished here, by accident – » His face darkened. »He was such a jealous prat – »

Sephiroth blinked. Anyway, my name is Harry Potter. And I am a wizard – a man who doesn't need Materia to heal or destroy. Back where I am from, there are two kinds of people – those like me, and those without any powers,« the man told him hurriedly. »We call we call that power magic – and you inherited it. «

»M – Me?« Now, Sephiroth stuttered. Harry nodded. »Yes – didn't you notice you didn't need much of an effort while you were learning how to use Materia, and how you even duplicated it's effects when you were in a tight spot?«

Sephiroth nodded.

Harry winced. »I don't have much time left,« he gritted through his teeth, as delaying the summoning was painful as hell. And he glowed brightly.

»I wanted to see you one last time, my angel.« he told his son affectionately. »Be safe – »

» - NO!« Twin shouts stopped his last words.

A bright flash of light, and they were gone.

* * *

_**/To Be Continued/**_


	13. To Abyss, With Love

_TO ABYSS, WITH LOVE_

_

* * *

_

_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own _Harry Potter _or_ Final Fantasy VII_ – only own this little itty bitty story.

_**Summary:**_ What if Mirror wasn't only a Mirror, but the Abyss? And what if this Abyss became interested in one green – eyed boy that looked into it?

_**Shout Out:**_ Well, as some of you commented, I'm on a roll, and because Genesis reminded me of the following quote, and the following quote reminded me od Mirror of Erised, I was compelled to stuff both of them in this lil' story. Huzzah.

_**Warning:**_ Huh... What could I say. Blatant disrespect of timelines, some _**Harry/Genesis Slash**_ and a whole lot of philosophy. Oh, and this counts as _**Shouta **_– **meaning **_**man/underage boy romantic relationship**_ (in progress, for now). In real life, I don't condone it. In fiction, I worship it. This is fiction. So no balking at my proverbial door – you were warned! On with the story!

* * *

"_Do not stare into the Abyss for too long; lest the Abyss stare back at thou, and lest thou become Abyss."_

_Anonymous_

_

* * *

_

The exact origins of Mirror of Erised were unknown. Not many knew of its' existence and use; and even fewer among those had managed to escape its' thrall.

For to gaze at the silvery surface of the Mirror, was to gaze into Abyss itself. Mortal men described the sensation as looking at their hearts' desire, no matter how holy or how depraved they were. A man could stand in front of the Mirror, or Eternity, and yet, to him, it would be just a moment of time, that passed him by. – such was the power of the Mirror.

It's foolish to dwell on the imminent desires in such manner, and even more foolish is to use the Mirror without knowing the consequences that would stem of its' use.

One man… was foolish and cunning – and naive enough to disregard the warnings, and he enchanted the Mirror to hide the Philosopher Stone within its depths in an effort to lure the shade of a Dark Lord out of its' hiding spot.

However, the old warlock didn't count on one young wizard to discover the Mirror; and even worse, the Abyss itself taking an interest in the young boy.

* * *

He gulped the uncomfortable feeling back in his throat, as his eyes watered. He wanted to look at them, at his family, for as long as he could… to memorize their faces and movements, and that loving feeling –

Harry gazed into the Mirror, for once in his life, happily. There, in the Mirror, was his whole family – all smiling and waving at him.

* * *

Unknowingly to him, something in the Mirror stirred. The eyelids fluttered open, revealing ice blue eyes on the flawlessly sculpted face. This one… was _different._ In his life, he had gazed in the hearts of many men and women – there were some devils among those masses – but this one person was special.

It was… so… pure– hearted it made him sick. And that pureness was spoiled with the taint off something vile, and even if he was sick with the child's naiveté, the dark taint was even more annoying.

'_Hmmm…. Let's see what does he want,_' the entity mused to itself, while a small, demented smirk formed on it's beautiful lips. Mortals were always so interesting to play with…. Even more so than demons. Sure, demons were good opponents, but to him, human hearts were the most interesting to play with. They were just so… different. Intriguing, as one of his friends would say. And he had this power, to look into their desires, and then reflect these desires back at them, and taunt and mock the poor fools with those mirages.

Nevertheless, for a child to look into the Mirror, however cursed it was…. He bit back a growl of annoyance, He enjoyed causing chaos and taking hope from them, but crushing hope of children, was a most heinous of crimes in his book. However, he was b bound to the rules, and as such, unable to do anything else than show the youth his hearts' desire.

_'A… Family. Huh. How ironic.'_ The kid wanted his family. Moreover, from his surface thoughts, he knew that all of his family was dead. All hopes… were dead. And it hurt to see the kid reaching his hands to mirages, to something that would never, ever exist in the real world.

Blue eyes narrowed in thought. He didn't want this one to fall into the curse of the Mirror; even if that would mean his freedom, but not for the price of the kid's life. And so, the red-haired man decided to do something, he thought he would never, ever do.

* * *

Harry watched, wide – eyed, as the picture began to fade and ripple. At first, only the edges were gone, and then, the minuscule movements, became more pronounced as they made expanse through the surface. The green-eyed boy frowned. Was the mirror… broken? He shuffled uneasily, as he bit his lower lip, anxious to wait what would happen next. Why would his heart's desire… change?

And then, there were flashes of red and black and ivory with startling blue, which organised themselves into a… man?

* * *

He growled to himself. Even if he was strong, the Mirror sapped almost half of his strength, just to show him on its' surface. The damn kid's wish must have been nearly obsessive; otherwise, the Mirror would not fight so much against him.

The sensation of materialising to… wherever he was, was like surfacing from the ice-cold honey. Slow and decidedly uncomfortable. However, when he looked at the kid…. When he saw those green eyes behind those ridiculous glasses, and black hair… he was undone. He knew, his efforts weren't for naught.

* * *

He watched, wide-eyed, as the man looked at him, The man was taller than he was, Harry supposed, and clad in… strange clothes. Black pants and black pullover with the red leather cloak with black shoulder guards. Harry flushed, as he looked at the man's face – it was as if he watched into the face of an High elf, only without pointed ears. Milky white skin, and startling blue eyes , with red hair - and not orangish red, as Weasleys had, but pure, blood red, only a shade darker than his cloak.

He gulped. "Wh – who are you?" his voice trembled with nervousness and tiny bit of anger and fear. No matter how majestic this mirage of a man was, he wanted to see his family. "Where is my family?"

The man was startled, if a minute widening of his eyes betrayed anything. "Oh? So you_ do_ see me, kitten?" he asked, his voice melodious. He watched the kitten, as he dubbed the boy, flush with anger and those eyes were simply divine, flashing with anger like that. If only that particular kitten had a pair of cat ears on…. He had to repress an urge to lick his lips lecherously. »I am Genesis Rhapsodos. What are you doing here, kitten? It isn't safe for you."

* * *

Harry growled at the man's audacity to call him kitten. "I am not a kitten!" he burst out indignantly. "I am Harry Potter – " He slapped his mouth a moment later, horrified. If there was anything his Aunt Petunia taught him, was the rule of not talking with strangers.

* * *

Genesis watched his kitten, amused. Harry, as his kitten named himself, was so very amusing with his switches of emotions… He had to smile a little. "But I introduced myself to you, didn't I, little kitten?" he asked, amused. "So it's alright to talk to me." Harry growled at the Man's logic. True, Genesis had introduced himself, but that didn't mean he was anything more. Harry swallowed his indignant pride in favour of asking his question. "Okay. Mister Rhapsodos, where is my family?"

Genesis had to suppress a tiny shiver at the kitten's formal address. How would he like that soft, pouty little mouth mewl in the throes of passion, and call him Master! How he wanted those green eyes be cleared off those horrible glasses, and fogged only with passion and embarrassment and enhanced with some tiny little tears that would enhance this rich shade of emeralds Genesis wanted to drown in…

He blinked. "You know that they were only a mirage, don't you?" he asked slowly. The kid – Harry, kitten – hung his head at his question. Genesis almost felt a pang of regret of having to disillusion him, but it was necessary… even if that meant he would be imprisoned even further.

* * *

"I know, Mister." The boy's voice was soft. "But I don't know anything about them, about my family – and if looking at them is something that could give me some memories of them… then I don't mind."

Genesis winced. _'So the kid is an orphan, huh…'_ he mused. "Aren't you happy?" he inquired softly. "Surely you have to have a family that loves you – "

* * *

"What family?" Harry interrupted him harshly. "If you talk about family that kept me for eleven years in the cupboard under the stars as their dirty little secret, if you talk about family like Aunt Petunia that screeches at me for anything her darling Duddikins may have done, or the Uncle Vernon that makes me work in for my bread, although he should have taken care of me – They are not, and never will be my family!" Harry exclaimed passionately, his voice bright and torn with emotions.

Genesis gaped. _His little kitten was abused? _The thought lodged itself in his thoughts, and the longer Genesis thought about it, the angrier he got. _'How dare they… How dare they treat their family like such – how dare they treat MY kitten - !_ " His fingers twitched for his sword's handle, and he felt his energy humming for release. In that moment, he could undoubtedly cast a _Firaga _to the degree even Ifrit would have trouble to compete with, just because that little waif.

* * *

"Don't you have anyone else to take the care of you?" his voice was gruff with suppressed emotions. Huge green eyes looked at him. "No, sir, I don't." The boy admitted quietly. "My parent s were murdered, and _they _– " he spat with a viciousness that impressed the Red General – "Are, according to Dumbledore, my only family, and this Guardians."

Genesis empathized with the kid. It was tough to be alone; he knew that from his own experienced. Being groomed as a weapon was a lonely path, one Genesis wouldn't wish on anyone. "Right," he agreed. "But that isn't why I came here. Kid, you need to stop looking into the Mirror, because – "

" - Because I would lost my soul?" Harry interrupted him silently. "I know," he told startled Genesis. "Dumbledore told us at the Feast." He sighed. "But I can't. I just… can't."

* * *

Icy blue eyes narrowed. "You want to lose your soul that much?" he asked the kid sharply. "At least I would be with my parents then!" Harry rebuked him back, making Genesis growl with frustration.

His kitten was stubborn as an certain Puppy of Angeal's… hmm, maybe they were related somehow… It was possible; kitten had some of Puppy's wild hair…

However, back to convincing the kid to back the hell away from the Mirror, no matter how much Genesis wanted the kid to stay with him.

He sighed. "But you have much to live for," he tried again. You have friends, and with time, you would have family.

* * *

Harry snorted. "No, I wouldn't," he told Genesis matter of-factly, "All people just see me as Boy – Who– Lived, and nothing more. Even now, I am not sure that my friends are really my friends, And the Wizarding World are just a sheeple in disguise."

Genesis mentally face palmed. '_ So much for successfully deterring the kid. '_

Inwardly, he was of course thrilled at the kitten's bull-headedness, but he dreaded the price his kitten would have to pay.

He sighed. »Very well, Kitten. If you want, then let's make a pact: You will come here, to talk w to me, and you could watch your family to your little heart's content each time; without repercussions."

* * *

Green eyes blinked slowly – and Genesis thought they were truly, like cat's, gleaming with faint luminescence. "And if I don't want to talk to you?" The kid asked suspiciously. Genesis smiled then – a honest –to Cetra smile, that would scare anyone that knew him – shitless. "Then I am afraid you won't see them anymore," he told the kid bluntly.

Green eyes darkened in disappointment and anger, before they widened.

"If you are lonely, just tell so," Harry told Genesis. »I would come anyway."

Genesis was speechless.

"I – I am not _lonely!"_ he sputtered out. He was the dammed Red General, he did not get lonely, thank you very much!

Knowing green eyes stared into angered blue ones. "That' s nothing to be ashamed of," Harry told the fuming redhead innocently. "I got lonely, too."

A silence reverberated between the two of them at the proclamation.

Finally, Genesis spoke. "Very well, kid. Then come here each night at 8 PM, and you will stay here for an hour. I will, in return, endeavour to hold the harmful effect of Mirror on you at bay. "

Green eyes brightened. "Okay!" Harry chirped out.

Genesis nodded. »Now go.« he instructed. "And remember our deal."

* * *

And with that, the Abyss gazed back, and his gate was held into the green depths of one that shouldn't have looked into the Abyss…. And there was only the question of time, when the Abyss would claim its' property.

Genesis licked his lips, as he imagined the kid – his Harry, his Kitten – those green eyes misted with tears of pleasure, under him, begging, as he would shamelessly arch against his Master, searching the pleasure and approval only Genesis could give to him.

He felt a pang of guilt at the thought of what he intended to lure the kid into, but only a pang – for Harry was _his,_ the consequences be damned.

* * *

The old man smiled in his office gently.

His plans were going smoothly –Harry discovered the mirror, and it was only a matter of time, when the real games would begin.

* * *

Meanwhile, the surface of the Mirror became opaque again, until the next evening.

**_/To Be Continued/_**


	14. The KISS Principle

_**The KISS Principle: Keep It Simple, Stupid**_

_**

* * *

**_

_**Disclaimer: **_I don't own Harry Potter or Eyesheld 21. I own this story, though.

_**Summary:**_ - Or how is life being bat-shit insane when you have two boyfriends that are determined to drive you crazy before your thirtieth birthday. No, scratch that. You want to live to see the next day, much less your twenty-fourth birthday.

_**Shout Out:**_ This is shorter than usual, but because the plot bunny bit me, I had to write it out. Although I love Sena, I adore Hiruma, and Clifford is just too much of a temptation not to poke fun – shaped holes at him. As for other stories, all in due time.

_**Warning**__:_ SLASH – this time, it's _**Clifford/Harry/Hiruma.**_ You think it's crazy – you ain't seen nothin' yet. Cursing, maiming the timelines and a general chaos. And oh yeah, blame the ferret game... and misplaced French kisses. Don't ask me – read it.

* * *

Life, for one Harry James Potter could be described in a short acronym, called SNAFU – **S**ituation** N**ormal, **A**ll **F**ucked **U**p. If you saw Harry Potter, you would've thought him to be kind and on a little shy side, but otherwise, overwhelmingly normal. However, the said teen, now young man, was as far from normal as humankind was from inventing the warp drive. Meaning, very, _very_ far away.

Because he was a wizard. You know, brooms, wands, potions and all that rot. And not only that, he was a famous wizard – just because he managed to kill Voldemort. Don not let the rumours about his eligibility deceive you; or else you will find yourself in a world of hurt….

Unknown to the majority of the Wizarding World, their darling hero was off the market rather permanently. The names of his new owners – ahem, _lovers,_ were relatively unknown to them, but if you asked Muggleborns, Harry's two boyfriends were rather… famous. Or _in_famous, in any case.

Their names were… Clifford D. Lewis and Hiruma Youichi. They were more known for their nicknames - _Invincible Gambler_ and _Hell Commander._ Both of the blondes were fierce rivals on the battlefield ever since that fateful match of Pentagram versus Team Japan. Both of them were feared for their intelligence and unnerving ability to bluff their way to victory. In fact, they were likened to ice and fire – Clifford with his crazy idiot approach and similar mentality, and Hiruma with his _'Kill'em all' _(metaphorically speaking!) one. Those two were so alike it was terrifying, and many football experts were wondering, if the two of them would play on the same team, just what kind of monster would have at least 0'001 percent of chance to get one over them. Not win – winning would be impossible anyway, but winning some points wasn't quite a pipe dream. At least not a farfetched one, at any rate.

So far, only one person knew for sure.

And yeah, you guessed it, that person was Harry Potter.

* * *

Hiruma was happily minding his own business – i.e. terrorising the unsuspecting team, when a man stormed to him.

"CLIFFORD DIONYSIUS LEWIS!" The enraged roar rooted Hiruma to the spot. "What the _fuck_ do you think you are _doing!"_

_

* * *

_

Hiruma gaped. "Hey! I ain't - !" He tried to protest, but the man yanked his head down. And Hiruma received his hottest – not to mention first French kiss to date. Jade green eyes bugged out with surprise – but even before he could collect his wits about himself, the kiss had ended, and his left cheek was stinging with the force of the delivered slap.

"What the hell, man?" Hiruma bellowed out, bewildered. He was so stunned he didn't even think about drawing out one of his little toys from his hammer space. "What the fuck did I do to you?"

* * *

"I could ask the same, " A cultured voice spoke up behind the back of Hiruma's assailant. The petite man whirled around, ready willing and able to loose his tirade on the next unsuspecting soul.

Green eyes widening, the man gaped at the stern, Malfoy-esque visage of the Invincible Gambler. "I was under the impression you don't French-kiss on the first date," Clifford addressed the still gaping Hiruma.

* * *

The green-eyed man was at loss. He eyed both blonds – "But – Draco told me to wait for you, you weren't here – "

Hiruma had to smirk at the spluttering man. With his vivid green eyes behind silver-rimmed glasses and messy shoulder-length black hair and a flustered blush on his cheeks, the assailant was surprisingly cute.

Clifford blinked. Draco? He only knew about one of his cousins with that stupid name. »Do you mean Draconius Argens Malfoy?« he asked slowly, dread settling in his bones.

Harry nodded. "Well, yeah. I didn't know about his whole name – but he's Draco Malfoy, yeah."

This time, Clifford did pale. "Aw, shit. What did my idiot of a cousin do _now_?" He groaned out, defeated.

* * *

Green eyes flashing, the petite man stood nose to nose with Clifford, even if he had to step on his tippy toes to do so. "Your_ idiot _of a _cousin,"_ He growled out," Had a_ very_ funny idea of sending me to drag your sorry arse back home, and he didn't give me the description, or, Merlin forbid, a _photo _of your stupid face, only this _'Look for a Malfoy'_ tidbit. Meaning, search for pointy-faced, rude and bleached. Do you understand my dilemma now, or do I have to spell it out for you?" He snarled out, embarrassed.

Hiruma howled with laugher at the description. It suited Clifford to a T – "Wait, why did you kiss and slap me, then?" He managed to choke out, mirth still clinging to his voice.

* * *

The petite man growled, embarrassed. "Thanks for reminding me," He spat out, before yanking the unsuspecting Clifford down to French – smooch him, and a moment later, Clifford sported the same red handprint on his left cheek, as Hiruma did.

Dazed, Clifford he was yanked behind the little spitfire. Hiruma was now choking with surprise.

* * *

"I think I am traumatised for life," The devilish blond said. Clifford scowled. "Do you think I _wanted _to exchange germs with you?" He addressed Hiruma grumpily.

Both of them yelped with surprise as the man head slapped them.

"The things I do for the ferret," The green-eyed man grumbled under his breath.

* * *

And thus, Harry Potter met the terrible duo, Hiruma found new challenge, and Clifford got Hiruma's germs, via the French kiss Harry bestowed upon him.

The games had just begun...

_**/To Be Continued/**_


	15. Dare You To Move

_DARE YOU TO MOVE_

* * *

_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own _Harry Potter_ or _Eyeshield 21_ or the song – _**I dare you to move**_ (by Switchfoot) I won this lil' story, though.

_**Summary:**_ When the hazing began, Yamato Takeru wasn't alone. In fact, he had a friend... named Harry Evans. This is their story.

_**Shout out:**_ _Yeaow..._ This one shot was definitely hard to write. But, I heard the song, and I just had to write it out. For next works, I don't know when I will get them out, I am working on Crimson Sagittarius, and the school is here again... _/sniff/ _

_**Warnings:**_ Okay, this is **SLASH **– meaning _**Yamato Takeru /Harry Potter (Harry Evans**_). I _**mucked up timelines**_, like I do – this is _**AU fic.**_ There are some spoilers – I took liberty to change the scene when the jocks are hazing Yamato, and the 'finish' of Eyeshield 21. Both Marshall and Notre Dame University do exist, and their jerseys are the colours described in the fic. Tecumseh University is a fictive, though. (Can you say filler? _/groans/). The used surnames do not in any way or form imply on behaviour of any living or dead persons._ This _**IS **_fiction. Oh yeah, and warning for cursing. On with the story.

* * *

_Welcome to the planet_

_Welcome to existence_

_Everyone's here_

_Everyone's here_

_Everybody's watching you now_

_Everybody waits for you now_

_What happens next?_

_What happens next?_

_

* * *

_

Green eyes looked at the imposing building of Notre Dame University dismissively. He had seen bigger and better already, and after all that bullshit he had seen through, not many things could intimidate him.

If he would find appropriate feelings to use, he would scoff at all those starry – eyed newbies, but he found this course of action pointless. He was here to take classes and relax from the hectic year he had – and of course, to blend in.

And one Harry James Potter, now Harry Orion Evans, the ex-wizard intended to do good on his promise.

Throwing his last look at the fountain, he absentmindedly joined the hustle and bustle of searching for the assigned classrooms. Harry was a recluse. A polite one, but distant nonetheless. He had a few acquaintances from every clique – geeks, jocks you name it, he had it all; but still, he was rather mysterious to his peers. Quiet and unobtrusive, but with keen sense for social interactions, and seemingly so much older than his peers. He didn't have any trouble with lessons, but his scores were somewhere in the upper middle half of the class. He didn't really join any club or brotherhood, although he helped in animal shelter in his free time.

Generally, he was left alone; nobody knew why.

Until one day…

* * *

Harry was walking from his lessons, idly contemplating his grocery list - he had to restock his fridge and pantry badly, because his friendly neighbours thought it would be a good idea to have a big happy meeting in his apartment, when he happened upon a group of jocks, intent on beating one of their own into the ground.

»Go away, Jap,« One of the jocks sneered at the dazed form on the ground. »We need no weaklings here.«

Harry's blood boiled as the jock kicked the kid down. »What the fuck is going on?« he asked sharply, unintentionally using his commander voice.

The jocks stiffened. Harry blinked as he recognized one of them. »Rawlings!« he barked out, making the called jock jump in fright.

»Ain't yer business, Evans, » One of the jocks sneered at the slender green-eyed man. »Scram, or else we'll fuck up yer pretty face.« He threatened, stepping forward.

Harry didn't budge. Instead, he strode forward confidently. »When you idiots are hazing someone, it became my business,« He replied frostily. »Go away and leave him alone.«

The jocks roared with laughter… except for Rawlings. The sandy-haired teen gulped. »Uh.. Harry, he's a Jap.« he tried to justify. »He isn't ours.«

* * *

Harry blinked as he looked at the crouched teen's upturned face. »A Japanese, huh?« he muttered dryly. Dazed hazel eyes looked at him. »We-ell, more so the reason for you asses to leave him the hell alone. » Rawlings flinched as his colleagues bristled at Harry's dismissive tone. »_Hoh?_ So you wanna protect your little squinty-eyed bitch?« the leader sneered.

Harry didn't react. Green eyes looked in those hazel orbs flecked with gold. The dazed stare sharpened, and after a moment, Harry nodded.

He then turned to the lead bully. »Stetson. »his voice was like liquid nitrogen. »You may haze him any way you want; any time and any place. But I promise you this - if you try to haze him, I will be there to stop you. And on the field… He will crush you, like the whiny little bitches you bunch are.«

The Japanese's face snapped at the green eyes man's promise.

To hear such a faith in that voice… the faith in him… it was amazing feeling.

* * *

_I dare you to move_

_I dare you to move_

_I dare you to lift yourself up off the floor_

_I dare you to move_

_I dare you to move_

_Like today never happened - _

_Today never happened before_

_

* * *

_

Grunting, the bullies skulked away, leaving the still kneeling Japanese teen and glaring British one. Green eyes thawed a little, as he looked at the still dazed teen-. »You alright?« Harry asked gruffly. The kid nodded dazedly. »Uh, yeah. I – I think so?« He pressed his hand to the bleeding wound, as he swayed a little. Harry groaned. »Oh, _for the love of -_ ! Get up and go to the infirmary!« he growled out. In return, he got a stupid smile and a nod. »Thank you, I think I will… hey, do you have a tissue?« wordlessly, Harry passed him one. Just when he turned, a hand was placed on his leg. »Um… Thanks for your help. You know – earlier,« the kid fumbled.

* * *

Grunting, Harry made a move to go away, but he was being held by the grip. »Uh… What's your name?« Harry looked at the sheepish teen in front of him. »Harry Evans.« With that, he pried the grip off of his leg, choosing to disregard dismay on the kid's face. »I have things to do and places to be. Park your hide in infirmary and keep your mouth shut. You never saw me, understood?«

He was granted one more of those stupid, brilliant smiles. »Yes, Sir, right away, Sir!«

The bloody kid had the cheek to salute him!

Harry twitched.

The _bloody _nerve.

* * *

_Welcome to the fallout_

_Welcome to resistance_

_The tension is here_

_The tension is here_

_Between who you are and who you could be_

_Between how it is and how it should be_

_

* * *

_

He had thought this would be the end of it. However, he didn't count on the kid's stubbornness in that matter. He was minding his own business in the mess hall, eating his lunch, when –

»Um, hi. Can I sit here?« a familiar voice asked cheerfully. And even before he could answer, the ass parked himself on the seat next to his. »I didn't manage to introduce myself before,« the same happy-go-lucky voice nattered on. Harry shot his new neighbour an annoyed glare, but without success. »I am Yamato Takeru, nice to meet you.«

Harry grunted at the introduction. »Hn.«

He looked at the brat, and he barely managed to stand still. _Bloody hell,_ Yamato was_ tall!_ Well, at least taller than Harry. And that sparkling smile, combined with puppy eyes… »My head is good, thanks. I needed some stitches, but it was okay. » Yamato nattered on cheerfully, unaware of the thunderous mood of his 'saviour' and people carefully edging away from the two of them.

* * *

Harry twitched. He had a rising urge to perform a very painful surgery on the fool…. To sew his mouth shut, or at least shove a fork up where the sun doesn't shine.

»Would you _mind?«_ He growled out. »I'm trying to eat!« the tone of his voice would silence the rowdiest of Gryffindors, but Yamato blithely continued. »Oh, good! Then would you mind swapping some rice for fries with me? I'm craving 'em, but I came too late to get some.« Harry sighed and showed his fries to the nuisance. It seemed that this would be a long, long day.

* * *

He kept his promise. When the imbeciles attacked Yamato again, he interfered. The thugs were later found by a pair of lovebirds – unconscious and with couple of broken bones. Harry was still cowardly enough to hightail outta there with his fastest speed, leaving Yamato in the dust.

No matter. Somehow, the dratted boy found out where he lived –

* * *

**/Ring, Ring/**

Harry blinked at the sound. Who on earth would want to visit him now? His neighbour, Mrs Stebbins, was away for her weekly tea time with other old ladies, the postman came at Tuesdays – today was Thursday – his acquaintances learned early on he abhorred frat parties –

**/Ring, Ring - /**

Sighing wearily, he out down the book he had been reading and stood up to open the door.

And lo and behold, here he was.

»Yamato…« Harry growled out.

The boy beamed. »Hi! Um… I heard you're tutoring English. So – um, would you tutor me?«

And there it was… a famous puppy dog eyes.

Harry growled.

»You insufferable – And if I say no?«

* * *

For a moment, he delighted in the devastated expression on his personal stalker's face.

He made a mover to close the door, when he was stopped.

The brat held the door open, his usually somewhat goofy face serious, hazel eyes bright with amber flecks were shining with determination.

»Then I'll just have to persuade you to say yes.«

* * *

At that moment, Harry was hit with a vision of himself saying those exact words to one dour Potions' Master. He had been desperate – and determined enough – to hound Snape to the end of the world if needed be, just to be trained properly. When he had lost his faith in Dumbledore, he turned to the one person he knew never lied to or manipulated him.

Hermione and Ron protested, but Harry was undeterred. If he had to off the tosser, he would be bloody prepared to do so, and not with that mumbo-jumbo of his mother's supposed sacrifice!

He paused. Green eyes looked at hazel and amber coloured ones. Pushing his glasses up his nose, he sighed.

»Well… Come in on, then.«

And he was rewarded with the most brilliant smile to date.

* * *

_I dare you to move_

_I dare you to move_

_I dare you to lift yourself up off the floor_

_I dare you to move_

_I dare you to move_

_Like today never happened_

Today never happened

* * *

Harry swiftly kicked Yamato in the stomach, making the taller teen yelp with pain. »is that all you've got? » Harry asked disdainfully. »Is that all you can do?« he kicked Yamato again, before stomping on his chest, making Yamato groan with pain. »Uh… But Ha – Harry – » green eyes flashed as Harry swiftly knelled and looked at Yamato's face.

»You want to_ give up_? Then, by all means, do so. I _dare_ you. Be the little squinty- eyed maggot that is too weak to play football…. On a _girls' _team. No – girls would be _too_ good for you, wouldn't they?« Harry continued mercilessly, his breath fanning across Yamato's steadily reddening face. »# A newborn baby could trash yo, blind and with one hand tied on his back. »

Yamato snarled. »You bastard…« He spit out, his breathing heavy with exertion.

* * *

He was dirty, muddy, dog-gone tired. His body ached like nobody's business in places he didn't know it could ache, and right now, he hated one Harry Orion Evans to the deepest pits of Hell.«

»And proud of it,« Harry dismissed the accusation.

Standing up, he kicked Yamato's throbbing side again. _Hard._

»Now, if you are done with your pity party, get up and _MOVE!«_ He barked out, before turning away from the seething Yamato.

That… was a mistake.

Yamato shot up and pounced on Harry, teeth bared in a snarl –

And Harry pivoted, grabbed his would – be attacker's jaw and slammed him on the hard concrete, making Yamato see stars.

»So, you still have some fight in you,« he remarked coldly. »Good. Get up and start running.«

Yamato whimpered.

Harry was one cold, cruel son of a bitch, and Yamato was monumentally stupid idiot to beg Harry to help him to enter the qualifications for Notre Dame's first-string football team.

Sighing, he got up and started to run.

* * *

_Maybe redemption has stories to tell_

_Maybe forgiveness is right where you fell_

_Where can you run to escape from yourself?_

_Where you gonna go?_

_Where you gonna go?_

_Salvation is here_

_

* * *

_

He still had nightmares from that time. He got better, but memories would haunt him to the end of his life. Closing his eyes, he sighed. It was hard to move on, and sometimes, he wondered whether he did the right thing, moving to States and not staying in England.

On the minus side, he felt as a coward.

On the plus side, he was safe from paparazzi and wizarding idiots.

And looking into Yamato's glowing eyes, as the brat excitedly bounced to him, announcing he got accepted into the first string was, if not redemption, at least a tiny bit of salvation that made Harry smiling so much easier to bear.

* * *

»Hey, Harry! I'm number 21 now!« Yamato told him enthusiastically. Harry made a noise and nodded, making Yamato pout. Harry's lips quirked in a smirk at the sight.

»Ah, I know!« Yamato perked up. »Let's celebrate with some of your home made lasagna and cake!«

Harry choked in surprise. »What?« he yelped out. »Do I _look _like your personal chef?« He sputtered out. Yamato eyed the flustered green-eyed male impishly. »Yes, » he answered promptly. »Now, feed me?« he whined, making puppy eyes at his friend.

Harry sighed. »You're paying for the ingredients, AND you're washing the dishes.« He capitulated gracefully.- _»He – ey!«_ Yamato mock – pouted. »I'm the man of the hour! Don't I deserve some… special privileges?« Harry 's eyebrow twitched.

A surprised yelp later, Yamato was nursing his numb arm and staring dumbly at Harry's retreating back.

»Harry! What have you done to me? _HARRY!«_

_

* * *

_

_I dare you to move_

_I dare you to move_

_I dare you to lift yourself, to lift yourself up off the floor_

_I dare you to move_

_I dare you to move_

_Like today never happened_

_Today never happened_

_Today never happened_

_Today never happened before_

_

* * *

_

The first quarter against NASA Aliens was disaster. Eyeshield 21 was completely overwhelmed by some no-name running back.

It was a blasphemy.

Eyeshield walked to the changing room alone.

»As soon as the game is finished, you're expelled from Notre Dame«

Gritting his teeth, he threw the golden helmet at the wall.

»Shit! Fuck, fuck, fuck! _How _could it happen? » He snarled out, his low voice too furious to be comprehensible.

»That no – good _ahou-yarou_ – how _dare _he - !«

_BANG!_

An errant football ball had just exploded at the wall with the force of Yamato's throw.

In front of his mental eyes, the memories began parading.

* * *

_»Hey, isn't that a Jap? What is he doing on OUR field?«_

_»Oi, Squinty! Bring us water!«_

_»Go away. You are useless trash«_

_»I bet he'll miss catching the ball again.«_

_

* * *

_

Yamato growled like a wild animal. He had poured his sweat, blood and tears into being football player, and just like that, just because some no-name American won in their little confrontation, he was now disposable to the team!

»Are you finished with your temper tantrum now?« A sharp voice cut through the red haze of his rage.

Yelping, Yamato whirled around.

There, leaning against the door, was his Harry.

* * *

»Um, Sir!« He squeaked out, flushing involuntarily. He was embarrassed to no end – not only had Harry witnessed his humiliation, but from his words, he was present for Yamato's temper tantrum, too.

It didn't help that Harry was looking good enough to eat.

»What are you- doing here?« Yamato asked hesitantly.

Green eyes narrowing, Harry approached the taller teen calmly.

»Watching you making an ass out of yourself,« Harry muttered dryly.

Yamato wanted to protest, but instead, he snapped his mouth shut.

Instead, he watched Harry approach him.

* * *

Harry was clad in dark grey trousers with green t – shirt and denim jacket over it. Tousled wild hair, as if the wind messed it up, Harry also wore blue-tinted glasses today. Yamato swallowed dryly. Harry was one smokin' hot piece of a man, and Yamato's hand made acquaintance with his member many times over the fantasies of his grumpy friend.

»I'm sorry, Harry,2 he managed to get out, shamefaced. »I disappointed you.« he hung his head, only to be grabbed by his hair, and brought to Harry's furious face.

»You're right, Yamato,« Harry's voice was arctic cold. »You disappointed me – but not because of your play. You disappointed me _**because you gave up!«**_

_**

* * *

**_

Yamato flinched at the pointed words. »But he – he's too fast!« he protested feebly. »I can't seal him and – » He was interrupted by a bonk on his head.

»Then find a way. You're not the only player on the field,« Harry growled out, exasperated. »Everyone has a flaw. Find his, and _exploit_ it!«

Yamato stared at Harry, feeling betrayed. »You know what? _Fuck. You.«_ He snarled out. »If you were on my place, you'd do the same – »

Harry sighed. »Yes, » He agreed. »I'd stand up and continue. » His voice was flat, making Yamato shudder with dread. A bitter smile and those weary green eyes instantly made him guilty.

Harry released him and turned away. »Harry, I - !« Yamato tried.

A slight shake of Harry's head snapped his jaw shut.

»Don't.« Harry's whisper echoed in the empty locker room.

»I can only tell you what my – Sergeant- told me_. 'When you'll be out there, you'll have only two possibilities. One is, to survive. The other is to die. But only you can chose which one you'll abide by.'«_

Yamato watched as harry walked away from him, and for some reason, he felt an unreasonable loss of… something in his chest.

Just what had his friend been through to have such a weary outlook on the life?

However, that cinched it up for Yamato.

* * *

He didn't care what were his soon to be ex-team mates saying about his heritage, his faults and his inability to be recent running back.

He was not here to pussyfoot around this time. It didn't matter that this would be his last match. Even his approaching expulsion didn't matter anymore.

What it _did_ matter, was to run this son of a bitch into the ground and _win._

_

* * *

_

Yamato – Eyeshield 21 – was a veritable juggernaut that caused chaos end despair among his opponents, Harry noted. _Caesar Charge_ was a scary thing to see – but even scarier thing was, Yamato was evolving. Pushing higher, better, faster, he soon reached and outpaced NASA's running back, and with _Caesar Charge_ in attack mode, NASA's ace didn't have a chance.

The pace of the match was brutal, ending in Notre Dame's total victory.

Basically, Yamato saved their arses.

* * *

Mr Don approached the panting Eyeshield. »That was a good game, kid,2 he said nonchalantly. He watched the Eyeshield grunt in agreement and take off his helmet. »This time, you're forgiven, » Mr Don continued blithely, unaware of Yamato's rapidly approaching dark mood. »If you had played like this from the very beginning – »

»Don,« Yamato interrupted the man calmly. He took the eyeshieid off his helmet, holding the blue – coloured piece of plastic in his right hand gently.

Don looked at the too still and too calm player lazily. »What do you want, Eyesh – »

»_Fuck._ _Off.«_ Yamato told him candidly, as he crushed the eyeshield in blue shards with one hand, making the crowd go quiet. »You don't need me, I won't be here. Expect my resignation letter by tomorrow.«

»_Whaa -!_ But - !« Mr. Don tried to protest, but Yamato was already striding away, his hear held high.

Pale blue eyes looked at the shards on the ground and then at the still overwhelmed Don. »Congratulations, » Clifford said tonelessly. »You've just lost us my best card.«

Don grunted. »Not if I have anything to do with it.«

* * *

Yamato didn't bother with changing out of the jersey. Fuck clothes – he had to find Harry!

With that thought in mind, he sprinted to Harry's little apartment, hoping against hope he would find harry there.

Harry didn't bother with watching the match to the end. Yamato's words hurt too much. Harry groaned, furious at himself and at one squinty – eyed bastard - somehow, Yamato managed to creep under his skin and stay here. Harry knew he would miss the happy-go-lucky chatterbox, but it couldn't be helped. Sniffling slightly, he headed to the kitchenette to make some tea. Furiously, he rubbed at his watering eyes.

»Oh, fuck _NO_.« he groaned. »I will _NOT _cry like some weak pansy arse!«

But tears came anyway.

* * *

He was jolted from his uneasy slumber by the pounding on the door. Blearily, he looked at the clock. Four AM. The match should be finished – Harry harshly stopped that particular train of thoughts.

The pounding continued.

»Yeah, yeah, I'm coming!« He yelled back, irritated. It came out a little listlessly, and not as fierce as he would have liked, but what the hell.

As he opened the door, the golden and blue blurr slammed into him, and the next thing Harry knew, was him being kissed out of his wits by very male, very bothered, and very familiar person.

Whimpering feebly, he tried to back away, but those arms didn't budge. Instead of that, he was subjected to another of those ravenous kisses that turned his knees to jelly and otherwise sharp brain to mush.

Eventually, they parted. Dazed green eyes looked at the equally dazed, but determined amber ones. »What – » Harry began.

* * *

His attacker shushed him. »Harry. You can yell at me later. Just let me tell you – » Yamato's Adam apple bobbed nervously. »I love you. And I'm sorry for – well, you knw. That, in changing room. I was angry and scared. Obermann just told me that after game, I was to be expelled from the school and - » Harry's eyes widened. »_What!_ That no good piece of – » he fumed. »I'll show that Malfoy reject just what he'd lose – » He blinked as the first part hit his brain.

»Wait. You _love_ me?« he asked incredulously, making Yamato blush and shuffle uncomfortably. »Um, yeah.«

Harry stared. »Why?« the question flew out of his mouth before his brain could comprehend. A moment later, he berated himself. He could have asked anything else, and instead of that, he chose to ask that!

Stupid brain.

* * *

Yamato stared at the bewildered youth in his arms incredulously. »You mean you don't know?« he asked, flabbergasted. »You are a good person. You protected me, helped me, and didn't give up on my whiny, bitchy arse. You bore my fits of stupidity and you helped me with my English - and you still ask why?« Harry made a frustrated sound. »Yes!« He growled out. »I would've done that for anyone. I am bitchy, unsocial and more likely to off you when you woke me up than to tell you to fuck off. I am paranoid and – »

He snapped his mouth shut. »Never mind. The point is, neither of us is gay. You tell me you love me, but that's just temporary – _oof!«_

_

* * *

_

He yelped as he was shoved into the wall painfully. The door banged shut a moment later. »Really?« Yamato purred out, incensed. »So you say my dreams of having you at my mercy, naked and helpless, are just a phase? That me, wanking at the memories of you crouching over me, kicking my butt into gear, sharing your meals with me, teaching me English grammar – is just a passing fancy? That my want of having you for myself – and for the record, I was jealous of your groupies as hell – is something to scoff at?«

Their breaths intermingled, as their eyes stared at each other's faces.

* * *

Harry gulped. He knew Yamato was intense, but… _Woah._ »Why won't you believe me?« Yamato asked desperately. Harry blinked. Yamato was serious with this.

»But we're both males.« he tried once again.

Yamato made a noise of frustration in the back of his throat. »I. _Don't._ Care. »He growled out. »Besides, I quit the team anyway.«

Green eyes widened with shock.

»YOU _WHAT!«_

_

* * *

_

Yamato winced at the volume of Harry's shocked voice.

'_Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to tell him,'_ He mused to himself silently. But he was out of reasons to convince Harry, and he thought –

»You _quit _your team?« Harry practically hissed in Yamato's face. »Yes, but only after a match. Which we've won, by the way,« Yamato quickly backtracked. »Besides, there was no point staying there, while they were so eager to kick me out,« He snarled, irritated.

»And you are… alright, with that?« Harry asked tentatively. They both knew that Harry wasn't questioning only Yamato's decision to leave the team. Harry was also wondering about Yamato's feelings about him.

»Yeah, » Yamato whispered. »Will you give me a chance?« He asked nervously.

Harry sighed. »I suppose,« he grumbled out, with a light flush suffusing his cheeks.

Yamato beamed with happiness and stole another kiss.

* * *

»WE ARE – _MARSHALL!_ WE ARE – _MARSHALL!_ WE ARE – _MARSHALL!«_ The chants pervaded the air, both from watchers and players. It was the day of the decisive match; the match that would decide which team would play in finale.

It was much anticipated match, both Marshall and Notre Dame having a winning streak through the entire season. But this time, only one of the two teams would advance.

What was even more interesting, was the fact that the match would be a final showdown between Donald Obermann, the captain of Notre Dane's first string, and the ex-player of the mentioned school, now the captain of Thundering Herd himself, Yamato Takeru.

Rumors had it that after the match with NASA Aliens, now renamed NASA Shuttles, Yamato crushed the blue eyeshield an politely told Mr Don to go fuck himself and then, he quit.

Two weeks later, he transferred to the Marshall University, which gladly accepted a running back of his calibre.

Although Notre Dame still held strong, there was a noticeable gap in their arsenal of plays, just because of Yamato's absence.

At the Marshall. Yamato quickly advanced to the first string. When the captain of the first string, Mitchell Reuters, injured his knee, Yamato stepped in as a temporary captain. The trust of Thundering Herd wasn't misplaced. With Yamato at the help, they quickly rose to being one of favourites for champion s of the season.

Yamato himself improved tremendously. His speed was now steady 4,2. But if he really kicked into high gear, it became the astonishing 4.0. His bench-press was unknown, although there were speculations about him being able to lift 145 kg; some said he could lift even more.

His _Caesar Charge_ was his opponents' worst nightmare. On the field, he wore a green eyeshield and a jersey nimber 21.

* * *

»I will show you the _real _Eyeshield 21,« Hiruma grinned demonically. The Deimon Devilbats were in luck - in ther Hell Month, they came across the announcement of the match of Notre Dame VS Marshall, and like any hardcore football player, Hiruma grabbed the chance and ran with it.

»E – Eh?« A small boy squeaked out, his brown eyes huge. »R – Real deal?« Sena asked fearfully. Hiruma rolled his eyes. »Yup. Watch and learn fucking chibi…«

Sena gulped, as he looked at the field.

* * *

_**«And now, there is our very own Thundering Herd, led by captain Yamato Takeru – the Eyeshield 21!«**_

The commentator shouted, as the excited crowd almost drowned his voice with their roars.

Sena watched, awed, as the single figure in green and white jersey with number 21 led the team to the field. »_EYE-SHIELD! EYE-SHIELD!«_ The calls were almost deafening in their volume.

The guy was tall and he moved with such an easy grace and confidence, that Sena blushed and shrunk into his seat.

* * *

»_Kya!_ He's soo _cool!«_ Suzuna piped out, her eyes shaped in little hearts.

The man beside her chuckled. »A new admired, I see,«

Blue eyes twinkling with mirth, he looked at the eavesdropping bunch. »So you're here for the clash, »He rumbled out. »Hiruma gave him a fanged grin. »Yeah. Besides, the damn pipsqueak got to see his namesake.«

The man nodded. »Ah, indeed. And he will get to see something. Besides, I'm rather curious how will they outwit Don.«

* * *

Down, on the field, both of teams lined up and looked at each other. Blue, white and gold against black, white anf green. Two pairs of eyes locked at each other. »So you his your tail here,« Don remarked. »How sad. » Yamato gave him a wolfish grin. »Too bad for you, neh? Do tell me how you managed to win your matches. I heard you had a rather hard time with Tecumseh University.« He ended cheerfully.

Don's face darkened. »You are going _down,_« he growled through gritted teeth. Yamato smirked. »On my lover, yeah. » The Herd groaned or snickered at Yamato's cheeky answer.

* * *

The Devilbats stared. There was no other description. Eyeshield 21 was juggernaut – nobody could stop him. He even won the clash with Mr Don, and that was nothing to scoff at – Don was taller and heavier that the slender Japanese – and yet, Yamato plowed through him with a deceptive ease.

The Herd had won. Yamato scored the last touchdown at the final whistle, and the stands went crazy. Even hardcore supporters of Notre Dame were yelling and calling in excitement.

Sena sat on the bench, dazed. That was the man who rightfully wore the Eyeshield title? In that moment, Sena felt a thousand miles away from his goal. He gulped.

* * *

Somehow, Hiruma managed to organize a meeting between Devilbats and Eyeshield 21. They entered the Herd's changing room filled with awe. This was the room of legends. Yamato awaited them, along with an unknown green-eyed male.

* * *

»Hello, Devilbats, » Yamato greeted them warmly. »Uh – h. Hi?« Sena squeaked out, his eyes huge. Yamato chuckled at the kid's awe. »Relax, I don't bite – ow!« he yelped. , as the smaller male head-cuffed him.

_»Harry!_« He whined, making puppy-dog eyes on his green-eyed partner. Harry snorted, amused. »Won't work on me, Takeru. By the way, » he turned to Devilbats, »I am Harry Evans, Auxiliary coach for the green bunch.« It was Yamato's turn to snort. »Keep telling yourself that,« He snarked. »Guys, he's the Green Demon you've heard so much about.« He smirked at Harry's glare unrepentantly. Hiruma's eyes widened. The Green Demon was a mysterious coach that whipped the Herd in shape. The Herd both cursed and adored him; his training regime was said to be devised in Hell. The results, howeverm spoke for themselves. »So… Care to exchange training tips?« Hiruma asked with demonic grin on his face.

Harry smirked. »Why, I thought you'd never ask,« He purred out silkily. Both Devilbats and Yamato paled with terror.

* * *

Yamato kindly answered their questions, or, as much as he could. Finally, the questions petered down, and Hiruma herded them away. »Um… Aren't you angry for me taking your title?« Sena asked hesitantly. Yamato blinked. »I don't care, » he told the small teen warmly. »Besides, I have faith that you'll definitely earn it on your own.« He clapped Sena on the shoulder gently. »And if you hadn't taken it up, somebody else would.« Sena nodded, his eyes filled with tears of relief. »Yeah! I – I won't disappoint you, I promise!« Yamato chuckled. »I know you won't. Now, shouldn't you be joining your team?«

Yelping, Sena's eyes widened, and he scurried after the Devilbats.

Yamato chuckled. If nothing else, this team was definitely unique.

* * *

He felt Harry embrace him. »They are quite a rowdy bunch, aren't they?« Harry asked quietly . Yamato nodded thoughtfully. »And they have potential. Especially the captain and the little one.« He smirked impishly. »You know, they remind me of us.«

Harry snorted, amused. »Should I acquire some guns?« He asked, green eyes dancing with mirth. Chuckling, Yamato took his jacket and shrugged it on. »Nah, you are scary enough as it is.«

»And what is that supposed to mean?« Harry asked mock- dangerously. Yamato's eyes widened . »See! That's what I'm talking about!« He mock-yelped, before dodging the head cuff and dancing out of Harry's reach.

Harry only shook his head, amused with Yamato's antics.

* * *

_Marshall University won the Fall Games, and got the trophy. The MVP of the season was Yamato Takeru, along with Patrick Spencer. Both of them are still rivals. Donald Obermann waits for his great chance in form of the first World Youth Championship. Sadly, Yamato Takeru declined the participation, along with the Devil Coach himself, Harry Evans. _

_In Japan, the finale of the Christmas Bowl went to Deimon Devilbats and Oujou White Knights. Kobayakawa Sena had proved himself to be the real Eyeshield 21. Devilbats won the match, and there were rumors of Kobayakawa Sena and one Shin Seijuro being in relationship. Some tongues wagged about Hiruma and Agon being in the relationship, too, but those rumors were quicky silence or otherwise disproven. _

_

* * *

**/The End - Owari/**  
_


	16. Danger Zone

_DANGER ZONE_

_

* * *

_

_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own_ Harry Potter... _nor do I own _Top Gun. _Wish I could, though...And the song is _Danger Zone._ Go listen to it at YouTube.

_**Summary:**_ What do you get when you throw together three of them: Maverick, Iceman, and Gryffin, otherwise known as El Loco? Danger zone, of course! Fasten your seatbelts, 'cos their whirlwind story is here!

_**Shout out:**_Whoa, this plot bunny jumped me again. The story lurked on my hard drive, and recently, I watched Top Gun. Meaning, I just _HAD_ to finish this story. _/is buried under the attacking plot bunnies/_ Well, speak of the devil, and it shall appear_.../grumbles/_ Anyway, you can expect more stories in near future.

_**Warnings:**__** Slash**_– meaning_** Maverick/Harry(Gryffin or El Loco)/Iceman**_. Screwing with timelines – this is completely self-standing. For some reason, I kicked Charlie as an instructor out, there's no mention of Goose's death, although it happened, and Harry gets assigned with Maverick and Iceman. As for general timeline, it's after Voldie dies. (No mentions of Voldie, though.) Oh yeah, and some cursing. Enough about it, onto reading!

* * *

_Revvin' up your engine  
Listen to her howlin' roar  
Metal under tension  
Beggin' you to touch and go _

_

* * *

_

Once again, Maverick and Iceman had one of their pissing contests. Not literally, per se, but...

They were supposed to have a lesson on enemy aircraft, courtesy of their civilian instructor Charlie.

However, Charlie was, for once, late, and all was not well in the lesson room.

Until the door opened up, and two men came in.

"Attention!" Viper barked out, successfully startling the pilots.

Stern gray eyes looked over the men, noting the tension in the room, the cause , as always, was the young Mitchell.

'_That brat again...'_ Viper thought to himself, sweatdropping. _'Does he really have to piss off everyone and their mother?'_ Inwardly, he winced and wished the new instructor much luck with the brats.

All eyes zeroed onto the two men in front of them. Maverick's cocky smirk slipped down a notch, while Iceman's frosty eyes widened a bit.

"Due to some... complications, your previous instructor won't be teaching you anymore. This is your new instructor, Mr. Harry Evans." Viper said gruffly. He literally could see the questions in the men's eyes. "I'll leave you now to your work..." He nodded to the petite man.

The eyes watched as the civilian nodded. "Yes, sir." His voice was smooth, not too high and not too low, with barely hinted British accent in. "A round at 20 00 as usual?" Disbelieving eyes watched, as the old war hawk smirked. "And don't you forget it. " His scratchy, stern voice took on slightly warm tone momentarily. "Of course not," The new instructor deadpanned. "Now shoo, you're cramping my style." At that, Viper barked out a laugh, nodding. "Aye, aye. You still owe me that bottle, though," He called, before he closed the door, leaving one Harry Evan on the mercy of the rowdy bunch that were considered to be the top pilots. Or was it the wannabe flying brats to the mercy of Evan? Viper chuckled a small, dark chuckle at the though. The cadets wouldn't know what hit them...

* * *

Harry turned to the class. Green eyes screened through the men, leaving them uncomfortable. "Sit down." He commanded, casually shuffling his map.

The crowd sat down, still stunned at the audacity of the green-eyed instructor. The man was small, almost petite, and clad in khaki pants and button-down khaki shirt, like any other pilot, but without any insignias to denote his rank. His black hair was messy, and pulled into a small ponytail, one more oddity, along with the stylish oval glasses with silver rim. His skin was lightly tanned and in the hollow of his throat, he wore a small beaded necklace.

"I am Harry Evans, your instructor, and that is all you need to know," The man announced, looking over them again. "I want each of you stand up, and introduce themselves, first their surname, name and second their call sign... and then sit down." He carelessly motioned to Wolfman to begin.

Iceman watched the petite man with slightly narrowed eyes. This... Harry Evans looked like a punk that escaped from the school and wanted to play soldiers. Well, if he wanted to do... _that,_ he was in for a rude awakening.

However, he was also curious about the new instructor. Evans seemed to be on a good terms with Viper, and that alone prompted Iceman to be careful. Whoever could bear along with the grumpy old man had to be tough as nails, or completely whacko in their head - still, he couldn't help but appraise the man's appearance. Iceman was something of a neat freak, always wanting to be in control of... _something._ It was useful trait, when there were lives, depending on you... and not so useful when the same trait made you twitch minutely at the comrades' moments of sloppiness, intended or not. What? He_ liked_ order!

* * *

One Pete Mitchell, nicknamed Maverick, wanted to sulk. It was unfair! He was barely tapping into... _that,_ and the bastards had to relocate Charlie elsewhere! It was so not fair!

True, there were many other chickadees to pursue, but... it was a thing of principle! He nearly winced as the green eyes zeroed on him.

For some reason, he got a feeling that this instructor wouldn't be as merciful as Charlie...

* * *

_Highway to the Danger Zone  
Ride into the Danger Zone  
Headin' into twilight  
Spreadin' out her wings tonight _

_

* * *

_

Black eyes bugged out. "Is he _MAD!_" Wolfman screeched out. Iceman and Maverick were in a pickle, and Gryffin was twiddling his thumbs? "Gryff _wouldn't_ - !"

"Did you say Gryff?" The helicopter pilot asked. More like demanded, but yeah. Wolfman nodded. "Yeah. They got Ice and Mav up here with me an' Gryff as a support. "

The heli's pilot barked with amused laughter. "Then you don't have to worry. Yer lil' friends are safe." Wolfman gritted his teeth. "And how do YOU know about that?" He demanded sourly.

"Because I flew with that little shit," the pilot explained, calmly steering helicopter. "The brat may not look like it, but he sure can fly. His battle callsign isn't _El Loco_ for nothing.

Wolfman blinked. "Loco... You mean mad?" He asked slowly. And then, it hit him. "Are you telling me they are up here – " he pointed at the sky – " - with officially craziest pilot_ ever_ to fly pretty little ringlets around them?" He finished his voice high.

The pilot nodded, humming cheerfully. "Ayup." He replied happily.

Wolfman hit the roof. _"ARE YOU MAD?"_ He roared out, scared out of his piss.

The pilot smirked. "Yes. To fly with Loco, ya hafta be."

With a strange sound, similar to a defeated whine, Wolfman collapsed back on his seat, grabbing his hair.

* * *

_She got you jumpin' off the track  
And shovin' into overdrive  
Highway to the Danger Zone  
I'll take you _

_

* * *

_

They returned. Ice and Mav childishly buzzed the control tower, while Harry calmly parked his bird to its designated place and sneaked away.

The petite man wasn't big on celebrations, and besides, he felt the two greenhorns deserved their part of fame. Smiling ruefully, he stripped himself off his flying suit and changed back into his working clothes.

* * *

_Right into the Danger Zone  
You'll never say hello to you  
Until you get it on the red line overload  
You'll never know what you can do  
Until you get it up as high as you can go _

_

* * *

_

They were happy to be back, but something was missing.

"I didn't believe the old fart, but you two had the biggest luck ever," Wolfman addressed them seriously.

Mav blinked. "Uh, yeah. Gryff helped," He agreed cautiously.

Wolfman made a strangled sound at the Gryff's callsign. "Yeah. Listen, you two. This is only among the three of us, _capisce?"_ He growled out.

Iceman straightened. "About Gryff?" He inquired. "Is he alright?"

Wolfman snorted. "Better than alright. But listen, when I was up here, I mentioned our dear ol' Gryff to the heli's pilot." He paused. "And he told me not to worry, because you two are safe"

Mav snorted. "_Safe?_ Yeah, right, with twelve MIG's hot on our tails, it's a wonder we got out safe – "

" – Because you flew with Loco." Wolfman's interruption snapped Mav's mouth shut.

"Are you telling us that _Gryffin_ is _Loco?_" Iceman asked slowly, is ice blue eyes wide with surprise.

Wolfman nodded slowly. "Maverick inhaled sharply. "No wonder," He said quietly. "Christ... He could have had us for breakfast, couldn't he?" He asked quietly.

Iceman nodded solemnly. "The trophy should've been his," He agreed softly. Gryff's –_ Loco's_ - flight was something out of this world. In the Top Gun, he may have done mistakes and was average at best – at least for instructor – but out here, he was unreachable.

Wolfman eyed the two pilots sombrely. "Just... Keep that to yourself, alright?" He asked quietly. Both pilots nodded. "We will." They promised, still dazed with discovery.

* * *

_Out along the edges  
Always where I burn to be  
The further on the edge  
The hotter the intensity _

_

* * *

_

Harry yawned as he stretched his body out. Some quality sleep wouldn't be amiss, he mused fuzzily. Flying was fun, but even he needed some rest after popping six of those bastards odd the sky. "Going to sleep already... Loco?" Harry stiffened at the loathed nickname. He looked at the intruders.

Mav and Ice.

He sighed. "Should have known," He grumbled out grumpily. "Who opened their big, fat gob now?" He moved to unbutton his button down shirt. He heard some shuffling and then, the cabin door was locked down. Harry was the lucky bastard who got the cabin with single bed, while others had to share their meagre space with their RIO's. The unofficial secret was, Harry was given this cabin, because he was ranked higher... although nobody knew his exact rank.

"Does it matter?" Iceman muttered dryly. Harry snorted. "Yes. Unlike you two, I don't want to be mobbed if the crew discovers they have El Loco on this damned ship." He replied archly.

"Shy?" Maverick teased. Harry groaned. "No. I just don't like attention," He grumbled out petulantly. He felt the warmth of two bodies pressing against his.

"Well, you'll be Gryffin to us. Our Gryff." Ice muttered lowly, as he embraced the smaller man. "Thanks."

Harry shrugged. "It was nothing." He murmured, as Mav nuzzled his neck. Dark brown and ice blue eyes met above his head in silent understanding.

* * *

_Highway to the Danger Zone  
Gonna take you _

_

* * *

_

Harry scowled. "Kazansky! Mitchell!" He barked out. "What's the meaning of_ this?_" He pointed to the four duffel bags in front of his door. He wasn't a morning person, he would have to deal with another bunch of dunderheads who thought that they were hotshot deal of the century, and he still didn't get his morning intake of extra strong coffee.

Maverick smiled mischievously, while Ice just smirked.

"Yo, Gryff. We are new teachers for the _Top Gun_ program." He told the still grumpy green-eyed man cheerfully. "Sadly, the instructor barracks are full; mind lodging us for a while?"

Harry blinked owlishly. "You are the new instructors Viper was babbling about?" He asked incredulously.

"Yes, we are, Harry," Iceman spoke warmly.

They watched, as the previous grumpiness fled in wake of sheer delight.

"Come in on, then," Harry invited the duo, smiling. "_Mi casa es su casa."_

"What does that mean?" Maverick, the ever-curious one, asked. Harry smiled a small, shy smile. "My home is your home."

Iceman kissed the wits out of the man for his offer.

Not that Harry minded.

* * *

_Right into the Danger Zone  
Highway to the Danger Zone_

_

* * *

_

"_**MA-AV!"**_ The recruits heard the roar and winced sympathetically. "Do the buzzing _AGAIN,_ and I _swear,_ there will be no lasagna for you tonight!"

"But _Gryff!"_ Maverick's whine was childish. "I just _HAD_ to – "

Viper chuckled at the instructors' antics. "Won't you do something about it?" The stern General asked. Viper shook his head. "Nope," He answered brightly. "Maverick will behave. Besides, there's still Gryff if Mav goes too far."

The general blinked. "Gryff?" He parroted, confused. Viper nodded. "My successor. Better known as El Loco, or simply Loco," He noted cheerfully.

The general paled. "I don't know whether I should be happy or afraid for the next generations," he muttered out dryly.

Viper had to laugh at the point-blank assessment.

"At least pilots would be exceptional," He offered mildly.

General only groaned, massaging his temples.

**_/The End - Owari/_**


	17. Half Of My Heart

_HALF OF MY HEART_

_

* * *

_

_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own Harry Potter or Bleach. I own this story, though.

_**Summary:**_ Our lovable, surly fourth Espada is the unknown friend to the Boy Who Lived. The duo sets on creating a temporary gigai for Ulquiorra to accompany Harry to the Yule Ball. Can we say ...oops?

_**Shout out:**_ Grrr... This story jumpstarted my brain a week before, just because I've listened to the song, _Half Of My Heart _(by John Meyer). In addition, Ulquiorra sneaked his way in my thoughts... so here you go. As for the story _**Danger Zone**_, I admit it was somewhat plotless, but really, I just had to scratch that particular itch. Maybe I will redo it someday, but as I have insufficient knowledge of _Top Gun_, so I doubt it.

_**Warnings:**_ **Slash **– this time, it's **Ulquiorra/Harry.** Timelines are fairly similar to original ones – Ulquiorra dies, Harry is elected as the fourth Triwizard Champion - and so on. I took liberties with Room of Requirements and Ulquiorra's capabilities, though. Onward with the reading.

* * *

_Oh, half of my heart's got a grip on the situation  
Half of my heart takes time  
Half of my heart's got a right mind to tell you  
That I can't keep loving you (can't keep loving you)  
Oh, with half of my heart..._

_

* * *

_

He watched his frustrated charge emotionlessly. Harry had worled himself up in a right bitchfit over the Yule Ball. Not only it was mandatory for Harry to attend it, but he had to have a... companion to accompany him.

For Harry, who was already awkward with social niceties this demand ... proved to be an utter nightmare.

Not that he had a shortage of willing females... the trouble was, he wanted to go with someone who saw him as Harry, and not the Boy-Who-Lived or some other utter bullshit.

It would be amusing, if Ulquiorra knew this feeling. Unfortunately, he was saddled with Mr Unease and Miss Jealously quite well, thank you very much.

It was... an unusual accident to have happened. And very unexpected, too. Ulquiorra prided himself on being analytic and knowledgeable of the enemy's moves. It served him well, as he could predict the trash's next moves quite easily. And it hindered him terribly,. Like in case of one Kurosaki Ichigo. That feeling should have such power to aid the Kurosaki brat to defeat him... It had been quite unexpected flow of the match. Perhaps he had been too arrogant. Perhaps he had been too jealous.

Perhaps.

However, when he looked into the tiny baby's eyes, something clicked within him, and that something kept him at the boy's side. It... Fulfilled him.

Even if Harry didn't know him, Ulquiorra knew Harry and that was enough. He listened to the boy telling stories, his little triumphs and misadventures, kept Ripper away from the boy – the beast was dumb but not _THAT_ dumb to attack Ulquiorra's charge.

Ulquiorra saved Harry in that first year, when that Hollow tried to posses the boy. The second year, he nearly had an heart attack – if Espadas got heart attacks – over Harry's duke-out with Basilisk. Third year was relatively tame, compared to the first two, although he was mildly surprised that the boy's_ Patronus_ charm was his physical form.

For some reason, it made him feel... warm. Accomplished. Tingly... like with that Orihime girl, but in greater capacity. It was only right that _'he'_ protected the boy. After all, Ulquiorra had been doing so since the very beginning.

This year – fourth one – began with a bang. First that itchy quid-something sport and the subsequent Death Eater attack, and then, as if that hand' t been enough, Harry being '_chosen'_ for the Triwizard Tournament. Ulquiorra wanted to bash the dumb wizards' skulls into concrete. Hell, even Grimmjow would look like a positive genius against those trashes, and that was saying much, coming from Ulquiorra, who hadn't put much stock into panther – themed Arrancar.

By sheer dumb luck, Harry had found the room – Come and Go Room, as those... house-elves called it. In his frustration with the egg, he missed the Prefect Bathroom, and stumbled upon the Room of Requirements.

Their first meeting was a bit... awkward.

* * *

Since then, every time Harry was free, he holed himself up into the Room, talking to Ulquiorra. Ron was not happy, but Hermione was just satisfied that Harry began to take his studies seriously.

Ulquiorra was just content to have company. Having talked with _Murcielago_ was all good and dandy, but those _'talks'_ became a little… stale after a time.

Besides, Harry was good source of amusement.

However, the longer he was with the teen, the stronger those feelings became. He didn't like Harry being with them; and he liked Harry's… groupies even less. They didn't know Harry. They assumed to know the slight green – eyed teen, and in their arrogance, they thought that because of that little tidbit of fake knowledge, they were… privy to know all about Harry.

… Trashes, the lot of them.

Unconsciously, Ulquiorra's right hand was being balled into a tight fist, but the former Espada disregarded the pain. It wasn't good idea. In fact, it was monumentally bad one. Having feelings for his… charge, prisoner whatever – it never did end well.

That annoying organ in his chest thumped loudly as those green eyes, so similar to his, looked at him imploringly.

Ulquiorra swallowed.

* * *

_Half of my heart's got a real good imagination  
Half of my heart's got you  
Half of my heart's got a right mind to tell you  
That half of my heart won't do  
_

* * *

"If only there was a way to make you real, Ulquiorra..." Harry groaned out, frustrated. "We could have gone to the ball, and – "he looked at his friend.

"Ulquiorra? Are you feeling well?" He asked, concerned.

Green eyes blinked at him. "I am. I was just thinking- " Ulquiorra began, and then, his green eyes widened. "I believe I have a solution, but I don't know if it would work," He muttered.

Harry looked at the tetra – coloured spectre eagerly.

"A gigai." Ulquiorra muttered out.

Harry blinked, confused. "Gih – Gay?" he parroted the strange word awkwardly. "What is that?" he cringed under Ulquiorra's 'you-re-hopeless' glare.

"A gigai is, essentially, a body without soul," Ulquiorra began. "The Shinigami who visited the Living World, blended in with the masses with the use of gigais. Their gigais were like human bodies, only they were... adjusted for the Shinigamis' soul to reside within, such as having greater strength, speed, etcetera." He frowned. "Their manufacture was secret, closely guarded by 12th Division, primarily its' former Captain, Urahara Kisuke."

"Oh." Harry said lamely. "So we can't get us one." he finished dejectedly.

Ulquiorra's eyebrow twitched again. He bonked his charge on the head, making him yelp. "Where are we?" The Fourth Espada asked the boy.

Harry pouted. "You know very well where we are!" He shot back petulantly. "We are in the Room of Requirements – " His eyes widened with comprehension. "Oh, yeah. Ulquiorra, you are a genius!" He crowed out happily.

Ulquiorra's lips twitched with amusement.

* * *

Harry stared at the recipe, disheartened. Although the Room couldn't provide gigai, it provided the recipe for making one. Even then, things became complicated enough that Harry wished for that damned diary. It would simplify the things, at least.

It was a ritual, mixed in with potions and something like Shaman Arts.

He sighed. Scales of Basilisk would be relatively easy to get... he just had to grow a pair and sneak in the Chamber of Secrets. Yeah. No biggie. It was just - how in the _Hell _could he return without help of overgrown immortal turkey!

Then, there was Unicorn's blood, willingly given. That would require trip into the Forbidden Forest... and searching for the damned magical horses. The feather from Gryffin, acquired. Sirius was kind enough to send him some. Apparently, Buckbeak wanted to send him something from his... cousins, and Sirius had to send the package, otherwise he wouldn't have peace from the ruddy bird. Tears from Phoenix, willingly given. Heart of a bat... and some of Harry's blood. And silver cauldron.

He sighed. He didn't even want to know how much trouble he would get in this time, just because he decided to be selfish and practically resurrect his friend.

Now, he had to find some nightshade and belladonna...

He gulped.

Just then, he wished he had paid more attention to Snape's ramblings.

"Let's begin, shall we?" Ulquiorra's voice was monotonous as always, but Harry had a sneaking suspicion the git was enjoying his troubles.

Just for that, he would trod some extra toes when they would learn dancing.

* * *

_Half of my heart is a shotgun wedding to a bride with a paper ring  
And half of my heart is the part of a man who's never truly loved anything_

_

* * *

_

"Harry? Where are you going?" Hermione asked the bespectacled teen inquiringly. Harry had just stuffed his mouth with toast, uncaring of good manners as he snatched his bag from the stone floor.

"I have work to do, Hermione," Harry dismissed her quickly. The bushy-haired girl blinked. "Work?" she repeated, dumbfounded. "But Harry, today is Friday and you've been disappearing on us since – since that egg incident!" Harry shrugged uncomfortably. "Look Hermione, I just wanted to be alone, okay? Crowds are not my thing, and if I want to survive this bloody Tournament – " He overheard Hermione's short bark of "Language!" " – then I have to get some extra work done. See you at the Ball."

"Mate, you are all work and no fun," Ron complained, before he stuffed his mouth with another piece of Schwarzwald cake. "D'you have a girl yet?" He asked inquiringly.

Harry stiffened at the attention. All those hungry stares on him didn't bode well. "I have someone, yeah," he answered vaguely. "And no, I won't tell you." That prompted some disappointed sighs and murmurs, but Harry disregarded them and quickly marched out of the Hall.

* * *

Half an hour later, with some masterful evasion from Mrs Norris and almost crashing into the ferret; Harry had descended the Chamber, with a satchel of needed things in his clammy hands.

Gulping, Harry began. First, he cleared the Chamber with some of cleaning charms he had learned for that occasion, and then, he put the potion ingredients in the right order. Without Snape to breath down his neck, Harry worked quicker, but he was also nervous as hell. Potions really weren't his forte, and he sorely wished he would have Hermione here to guide him through the process. Alas, what he was doing, wasn't exactly legal along it being a borderline dark arts, what with it being a Necromancy. An obscure branch of the ancient Art, but the branch nonetheless.

And as if the things weren't tense enough, Harry had only one try. If he failed... well, let's just say there would be no Harry skipping happily either in the living world or the one of the dead.

"Let's hope I don't muck up, shall we?" he muttered into the stillness of the Chamber.

He began to prepare the ingredients, biting his lips.

* * *

Ulquiorra watched the teen minding the potion. They were here for a long time – Ulquiorra estimated six hours already passed, and they were nearing the end of the potions' phase. The Espada's respect for the boy deepened. Not many had the balls to do that what this youth was doing. Uncomfortably, Ulquiorra was reminded of Aizen, but Harry was too innocent and naive to be the beast Aizen had became in the latter centuries of his reign. However, Ulquiorra remembered the old wandmaker's ominous words in accordion to Harry's wand... and its' connection to the other one. _Terrible, but great._

Harry couldn't see or hear him, but that was alright. Harry needed all the quiet to concentrate on the work, and Ulquiorra himself wasn't especially chatty person.

He watched, as the potion's light golden shade changed into greenish shimmer.

* * *

"It's time," Harry croaked out He took the small cauldron off the fire and poured the contents in into the jade bowl. Murmuring ancient words slowly, he took the obsidian knife and cut his left hand deeply. Grimacing in pain, he then picked the bat's heart in the sliced hand.

It was strange feeling, to have something slimy and cold in the hand, and even more, it was creepy, when thinking exactly what he was holding. He was already light-headed from the loss of blood, but the ritual wasn't over yet. Gulping, he looked at the hot potion.

Now, for the hardest part – sticking the hand with the bat's heart into the bowl, full of scalding hot, unknown potion. All of Harry's instincts railed against the irrational action, but Harry was stubborn. He hadn't gone so far just to chicken out at the last step, had he? Besides, he owed it to Ulquiorra... and he wouldn't let his friend suffer, if he had any say in it!

Determinedly, he stuck the hand into the potion – and promptly screamed.

Ulquiorra took the chance.

The Chamber was lit with the green light, the exact shade of _Avada Kedavra_ curse – so blindingly bright, that anyone who would have seen it, would have become blind.

* * *

_Pain. Pain. The Pain._ _Pain everywhere._ That was the first feeling that greeted Harry on his return from the blessed unconsciousness.

That, and a slender body on the top of his.

Slender, naked male body.

Harry blinked. Or tried to. It was dark – he saw nothing. Blessed darkness. He sighed – and even the act of breathing hurt.

"Oww..." He whimpered. He would have screamed at the agony his throat was in, but apparently he was able to produce only the most feeble sounds, and even those were painful to emit.

Nothing, not even being bitten by Basilisk, hurt like this. It was an epitome of agony. And Harry was so, so tired...

But he had to know.

"Ulqui – Ulquiorra?" he whispered out hoarsely.

He was answered with a groan.

_"Nnh?"_ Harry's heart skipped a beat, and he smiled a broad smile. "Hey... We did it." He whispered to his... companion.

"Indeed." The usually smooth voice was grating now. The body on top of Harry's moved slightly.

Harry smiled as he felt a heartbeat under his hand. A heartbeat that was curiously in synchrony with his.

* * *

It was a strange thing, to have a body... Again. The last time he had a body, was when he had been battling with Kurosaki, but the last time he had a physical body- he didn't know anymore.

It was a strange feeling – so curiously desensitized to some, and sensitive to other things. When he was lying on the top of the boy, he was acutely aware of his nakedness and the coolness of the Chamber, along with the scratchy feel of the fabric against his front.

He blinked. He threaded his hand through his hair. Silky. Warm. In darkness, he traced his face with his fingertips – eyelids, nose, forehead, lips, throat –

He froze. There wasn't a hole anymore. But there was something else.

A heartbeat.

He gulped.

Was it normal, for a ... gigai to have a heartbeat?

As far as he knew, Hollows, and consequently Arrancars and Espadas didn't have heartbeat. Logically, their human/gigai counterparts shouldn't have had heartbeats either.

But there it was.

Faint, but relentlessly thrumming under his suddenly unsteady fingers.

Eyes wide in the dark, he gulped.

'_What had the boy done now?'_

* * *

_Half of my heart  
Oh, half of my heart_

_

* * *

_

It took some tries, but he finally opened Garganta into the Room of Requirements. Luckily, nobody was here, otherwise both of them would be in a deep shit. They already were, as a matter of fact, but they would have been in deeper one, if anyone would witness their... appearance. Harry with his sweat – soaked body, pale as a ghost and bloody left hand with a deep scar on the palm, and Ulquiorra, who was naked as on the day he had been born, with no Hollow's hole on his throat, but otherwise, he still had his characteristic helmet and tear tracks, along with green eyes, that were just now slightly wider than usual.

He laid Harry on the prepared bed, watching his breathing concernedly. He needed something to –

Ulquiorra growled. The Room could give them something, but as far as healing went, Harry had to bring his supplies along. And just then, it seemed that this stupid rule bit both of them in the ass.

Impulsively, he put his right hand on Harry's chest and closed his eyes, wishing that he could have done something, anything –

Suddenly, he was drained, and he caught himself just in time not to crash on the unconscious teen.

Groaning weakly, he closed his eyes. The vertigo of sickness in front of his eyes didn't help any...

But when his sharp eyes caught a faint moaning sound, he perked up and forced his queasy stomach to cooperate.

"Ulqui..." Harry whispered out weakly.

Ulquiorra smiled.

* * *

"That shouldn't have happened!" Ulquiorra growled out, frustrated.

They were debating just _why_ was that Ulquiorra had a heart.

They were intending to make only a Gigai – a temporary one, at that, but it seemed that magic had other plans.

Harry groaned in exasperation as he flopped on the bed. "Ulquiorra, magic isn't logical," he pointed out logically, wild hair forming a dark halo around his face.

It was frustrating, arguing with Ulquiorra about the technicalities of his... _resurrection._

"But there had to be something we have done differently," Ulquiorra shot back, as he practiced with _Bala._ They had found out that Ulquiorra still had his old techniques, and Ulquiorra immediately set on a gruelling training routine to get himself up on the par with his previous capabilities. It was somewhat annoying, going through all that training again, but it was surprisingly easier than when he was still Arrancar.

Harry groaned. "You are still hung on that?" he accused the ex-Espada petulantly, glaring at him half-heartedly. Ulquiorra was clothed in his usual uniform, the white and black ensemble he had been known for in _Las Nochas._

"Yes." Ulquiorra replied calmly. "If we don't know what caused this... how can we prevent any mishaps that could occur later? Let's go from the beginning..."

Harry paled. "That's not the problem." He whispered out, his eyes wide. "It was when I got the bat's heart in the bowl...S'pose that my blood had... uh, something with that?" Ulquiorra paused.

"Your blood?" He parroted out, confused. "Is completely normal – "

"_No,_ Ulquiorra, it's not. Remember Basilisk?" Harry interrupted the ex-Espada. "We – we thought that Phoenix tears counteracted Basilisk venom... but what if – what if we were wrong? What if part – a tiny bit of that venom stayed in my blood, and I got used to it?"

Slowly, Ulquiorra blinked. Then, he froze.

"Blood... "He muttered. "You're right." Green eyes stared into equally viridian ones. "However, I think we have to correct that theory. If it were only Basilisk, the process would be a failure from the start. Your blood – along with the Basilisk /Phoenix mix would be a safer bet. "

Harry nodded slowly. "Basilisk scales were acting as a primary base, along with the Unicorn blood," he mused thoughtfully. My blood should have acted as a secondary base, and jumpstart the process of creating a body for you. But, because my blood wasn't _'pure'_" he made quotes at the last word, Basilisk venom and Phoenix blood crashed the process. Your body was still rebuilt, but in the process... You were somehow" he gulped, green eyes wide with horrified realization "Bonded with me."

Ulquiorra stared.

"So we share a heart." He concluded dryly.

Harry nodded slowly.

"Literally." He whispered out.

Ulquiorra's eyebrow twitched.

* * *

_**/To Be Continued/**_


	18. This Maniac Is In Love With You

_THIS MANIAC IS IN LOVE WITH YOU_

* * *

**_Disclaimer:_** I don't own _Harry Potter_ or_ Dragon Ball Z: The Legendary Super Saiyan. _Own this story, though.

**_Summary:_** Gilderoy Lockhart had done something momentarily stupid, using an unknown spell on one Harry James Potter. In other universe, Brolly gets his hands full with his spitfire of a mate with green eyes.

**_Shout Out: _**Wow, wow and once more, wow. Thank you for your reviews, and I'm happy you enjoy my stories. This story is happening in Harry's second year – As said, Gilderoy Lockhart used some spell, which surprisingly – worked, and sent Harry on his... journey. Unluckily – or luckily enough, the spell ejected him in Brolly's chamber and from there on, it was history. Generally, this story was written in three points of view -Brolly's, Harry's and general one. I know, I know - messy, but what could I do? _/shrugs helplessly/._ As for **_Selfish,_** I am in a bind right now, as I have trouble with battle scenes, so I honestly don't know when I will post the chapter. I didn't forget, though.

**_Warnings:_**_** Slash,**_ primarily **_Brolly/Harry,_** maybe some other pairings later. It's also **_AU-verse. _**And some cursing.

* * *

_There's nothing more that I can do_  
_This maniac's in love with you_  
_Your biggest fear has just come true_  
_This maniac's in love with you_  
_This maniac's in love with you_  
_This maniac, this maniac_

_('This Maniac Is In Love With You', _by Alice Cooper)_  
_

_

* * *

_

Dark eyes were empty with mindlessness. He seemed to be totally docile in his obedience.

He was adorned with jewellery – arm braces, ornamented belt clasp and head circlet with heavy necklace laying on his skin.

His skin was tanned slightly, and his hair was exotically coloured – purple with neon blue highlights. He was tall and muscled; and yet, he still seemed to be somewhat scrawny. He was clad in white loose trousers with scarlet sash looped around his hips loosely before the said sash was held together with the belt.

All in all, he looked like… a doll. A living, breathing one, but a doll nonetheless.

He… hated it.

The dark – haired youth cried out in pain as he tumbled out of whatever hole the idiot's incantation had thrown him in. Gritting his teeth in an attempt to stave off the pain, he mumbled a curse under his breath swearing colourfully. If he ever got back from where he landed, one Gilderoy Lockhart would be in for a rude awakening.

Harry had had it with his grandiose episodes.

Blinking slightly, he let his eyes to adjust to the low amount of light in the room.

He paused as he noticed the strange architecture.

»Well, methinks I'm not in the Kansas anymore,« he grumbled out sarcastically.

He heard a shuffle behind him and turned around.

And froze.

* * *

He blinked. The boy's arrival was… unexpected, and as far as he could see, his visitor was no Saiyan. The boy was small, scrawny and had the messiest hair he'd ever seen, including Kakkkarot's weird hairdo.

And he had green eyes. Something stirred within his chest.

Slowly, he shuffled toward the petrified boy. For some reason, it was of utmost importance to –

* * *

Harry exhaled slowly as he watched his… roomie approaching him. Said 'roomie' was tall-taller than anyone – with exception of Hagrid – he had seen, and the green-eyed wizard had no doubt the man could break him in two like a twig, if he wanted to.

But that… placidity on his face – in his movements – was forced. For some reason, Harry didn't like it; because he was reminded of the old adage that still waters run deep.

Something mad lurked behind those faux-empty eyes, like a hurricane waiting to be unleashed onto unsuspecting masses.

* * *

He reached the boy. The boy's scent was salty and damp, like freshly soaked soil after a heat wave, and it made his inner beast wanting to purr.

He wanted to enfold the boy into embrace, and never, ever let him go.

Instead of that, he gently grasped the boy's small and slender hand, and brought it up to the circlet.

He struggled against the fog in his brain. _No! He would not lose! He would - !_

* * *

Harry watched, perplexed as the man grasped his hand and moved it to the circlet. It was… as if he was trying to tell him something.

The small spark of awareness on those dark eyes dulled back into the mindless gaze.

Harry growled with anger.

So someone was controlling the man via the circlet, huh? Well, let's see for how long it would last - !

* * *

He felt the boy's anger, he saw those viridian eyes flash with fury, and it was delicious sensation.

His inner beast bated their breath, as those frail fingers touched the thrice-damned circlet.

Warmth pervaded his body as th4 youth's weaved carefully between his hair, before they clenched and with small grunt, the circlet was off.

His inner beast roared with triumph, as their awareness and bloodlust skyrocketed again.

At least… He was _free._

A feral grin curved his lips.

* * *

Harry cringed as the waves of power exploded from the man. Once dull, dark eyes were now feral, intelligent onyx, and somehow, the man's body was more filled, more… _ripped. _

Harry gulped as those feral eyes zeroed on him.

* * *

He could go trash those worthless excuses for Saiyans. He could finally kill that imbecile Kakkarot. He could show Paragus just why it wasn't such a bright idea to try and control him.

He could lay a waste to universe.

After all, he was the strongest.

However, watching the boy's green eyes, he decided otherwise.

Because, if he had done so, he had a nagging feeling that when he would be gone and done over with, he would lose the boy… and that was unacceptable.

His inner beast agreed.

* * *

Harry was being lifted, effortlessly, like a small kitten.

He could acutely feel his heart thudding behind his ribcage furiously as he was dangling in the air, those big, strong palms holding him carefully as if he were a small bird and yet, he was all too aware that he could be crushed like an overripe grape. Those dark eyes stared at him, scrutinized him and finally, Harry was annoyed enough to squirm and glare back, prompting the man to smirk with amusement.

* * *

_Oh-ho._ So his prey was spirited, after all. He had to fight the urge to cuddle the teen. Well, it wouldn't do for the boy to be terrified of him – with others, he would relish their fear and despair, but not with this boy. It just wouldn't do.

The boy's ribcage was delicate under his touch, and his inner beast growled in the back of his mind. Who in the hell was the stupid fucker that dared to starve the mate of the Legendary Saiyan!

* * *

Harry squirmed some more. He was fed up with being treated as a kitten! Biting back a growl, he patted one thickly muscled arm and pointed to the ground, and lastly, to himself.

»Put. Me. Down,« he mouthed to the purple – haired hulk.

* * *

He blinked – his kitten surely was bold – but he liked it. Moreover, his kitten's voice was… Perfect.

He felt a flash of amusement at the kitten's demand to be put down on the ground.

»And just why would I do that?«« he teased the boy, a mischievous smirk hovering on his lips.

* * *

Harry scowled. He may not understand the fucker, but the teasing undertone he sure as hell did. That big lug was toying with him!

This time, he did growl and he glared at the culprit with all his might.

»I said – Put. Me. Down.« he grated out, wiggling again his magic pouring out, making the man yelp with surprise as he was dropped on the ground. Harry didn't waste the chance – and darted for the door.

And promptly ran into the brick wall of muscles.

* * *

Yelping with shock, he dropped his tiny mate. Somehow, the boy managed to generate a shock, painful enough that he had no choice but to drop him. The boy didn't waste time and promptly dashed to the exit.

So… his mate was strong, and had good survival instincts.

That was good.

What was _NOT_ good, was the fact his mate was running away from him!

Sure, he loved fight and chase as much as the next true-blooded Saiyan, but with that trash outside, he could not, would not let his mate walk away from him into certain death trap if he had any say in it!

Using his speed. He reappeared in front of his mate just in time for the boy to run smack-dab into him.

This time, he couldn't suppress a shiver at the contact, before he grabbed his mate and growled into the startled boy's face.

»Oh_ no,_ you_ don't._ If you think I'll let you go… think _again!_« With that being said, he tucked the stunned boy to his body firmly, but carefully enough not to break his mate's bones,.

* * *

Harry was stumped. First, the man was pissed at him, and the next moment, he is ensnared into tightest, warmest, safest hug he had ever received. The only thing wrong with that picture was that the instigator of the hug was Grade-A jerk and alien one on the top of it.

That didn't do a whit to distract him from enjoying the hug…

…reluctantly, mind you.

* * *

He couldn't help but smirk triumphantly when he felt the boy relax minutely. He knew the battle was far from over – his mate was as free-spirited as he was, but the rewards were more than worth it.

The beast within his mind purred with delight, as he nuzzled his nosed in his mate's fragrant hair.

* * *

They watched Paragus nearly shit himself for some reason – and a moment later, they felt why. Dark eyes narrowing dangerously, Vegeta rounded on the trembling First Class. »Paragus, what the fuck was that?« the prince of Saiyans hissed out, as he was on hair trigger to just flip into the Super Saiyan mode and search for the culprit himself.

The man trembled. »I – It's Broly, Your Highness… S – Somehow he escaped the mind-controlling device.«

»Explain.« Mirai Trunks bit out sternly. All that power was making him itchy, and if that… Broly truly became free cannon, there was bound to be trouble.

_Big_ trouble, in fact.

Paragus gulped.

»Well, you see… Broly is the Legendary Saiyan.« he muttered out, sweating with terror.

_»WHAT!«_ A chorus of voices cried out incredulously.

Vegeta's was the loudest.

The proverbial bomb had been dropped.

* * *

**_/To Be Continued/_**


	19. The Wind Is Blowing Tonight

_THE WIND IS BLOWING TONIGHT_

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_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own Harry Potter or Naruto. Whoo. I do own this lil' story.

Summary: The Stag and the Wolf had a secret... and nine years later, Kakashi Hatake finds out that he has a family... a little brother!

_**Shout out:**_ _/Chokes/_ Well, that was _so _unexpected /_dryly/:_ I knew that _**This Maniac **_would be a very controversional story, but well, I was still surprised. I agree, there is many other (pretty) boys to pair Harry up with, but what can I say, my fiction can be very unorthodox at a times. Anyway, thank you for your comments, it was_ so_ worth writing this story! _/Leers happily/._ However, this is a little bit tamer, and because someone pointed out that I like bashing our resident silver – haired, one eyed pervert a little bit too much... _/snorts/._ I like Kakashi, but I can't help if he makes so good target for bashing _/hides behind computer./_

_**Warnings:**_ Awe, again... Okay, this time, it's _**shonen ai**_ – meaning _**Kakashi/Harry,**_ part-incest (not whole, you will see why) and _**underage love**_ (kissing). _**AU – verse,**_ as well. I know, I'm evil. Onward to the reading.

* * *

_Little brother, _

_The wind is blowing tonight, _

_cold and quiet._

_Little brother, _

_I'm tired of wind and rain._

(From _The Shield's Ring,_ by Sutcliff Rosemary)

* * *

_**1) Eyes**_

Since they first met, they were lost to each other. Gentle, mischievous brown stared into deep gray with lighter silver flecks, the Stag and the Wolf began their courtship. It didn't matter that the Stag was already betrothed to the Doe, nor did it matter that Wolf already had his partner. It was too much, and too right.

* * *

_**2) Separation**_

Even knowing that the dreaded day would eventually come, it didn't hurt any less. Rather the opposite; the pain was even sharper and more defined. When the Wolf vanished into the night, the Stag crumbled onto the forest ground, crying his hand cradling his stomach protectively. _Their cub._

_

* * *

_

_**3) Gift**_

The Doe was barren, so she treated the little Cub like a gift he was. She adopted the little boy in all the ways – mind, heart, body and soul. Thus, the Cub got green eyes, her eyes, two perfect little emeralds to watch the world with.

* * *

_**4) Broken**_

It wasn't enough, that he became a pariah of the village he so faithfully served – no, he had to feel their bond break, helpless to do anything. That night, Hatake Sakumo did a _seppuku_, praying to gods to let him be reunited with his soul mate, one James Adrian Potter.

* * *

_**5) Letter**_

He was thunderstruck. Never in a million years, would he imagine he had a brother. The letter fluttered from his nerveless fingers on the ground gently, as if understanding his shock.

Hatake Kakashi had a family. _A brother. _

_

* * *

_

_**6) Dreams**_

Harry always liked the time of sleep the best. There, in the dreamscape he was safe to pretend he was loved, that he had a family, a mother and a father... but for some reason, there was always a silver wolf there, and he was a black pup.

* * *

_**7) Frustrated**_

Kakashi was at his wits' end. He didn't give a fucking damn about having to take a team of Genin, not even with the last Uchiha being thrown in to sweeten the deal. This day, shinobi and civilians alike, witnessed the silver – haired Jounin storm to the Hokage Tower, ready, willing and able to skewer anything and anyone who dared to oppose him.

* * *

_**8) Snap**_

When they first saw each other, they couldn't help but feel something snap in the place – something they hadn't known it had been missing from their hearts, until now.

* * *

_**9) Protector**_

Despite of Kakashi's mellow behaviour, the Dursleys were terrified of him – and with a good reason, too. When Kakashi found out about them neglecting Harry, it wasn't pretty. Harry was just glad he had someone to protect him for once.

* * *

_**10) Training**_

Even if he didn't want to, Kakashi trained his little brother. Even if it broke his heart to hurt him –

But each night, Harry still snuggled into him, nuzzling his chest trustingly, giving him his salvation.

* * *

_**11) Magic**_

Harry didn't like it. For him, magic took his parents away from him and Kakashi... but on the other hand, if it hadn't been for magic, they wouldn't have met each other.

* * *

_**12) Kiss **_

Their first kiss was unintentional, and a result of horsing around, tripping and gravitation.

Green and dark grey eyes widened as their entire world shifted around, into something new.

* * *

_**13) Snake**_

Kakashi was freaked out. But to see_ Manda _of all things here, conversing with Harry, was a little hard to stomach. Once again, he cursed Pakkun's chattiness... Why did he have the dog summons again?

* * *

_**14) Godfather**_

Sirius eyed the silver-haired, one-eyed man warily. The man stood in front of his Godson, ready, willing and able to bust Sirius' skull at the smallest sign of Sirius' mal intentions to the green-eyed child.

* * *

**_/To Be Continued/_**


	20. Berserkers

_BERSERKERS_

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_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own Harry Potter, Bleach or Eyeshield 21. This story, however, is mine.

_**Summary:**_ Sometimes, magic doesn't solve all the problems. How would Hogwarts deal with two Berserkers, fully intent on protecting Harry – and having him for themselves? Dursleys may know something about that...

_**Shout Out:**_ Oh yeah, my craziness struck again. As I have oral exam tomorrow, I am psyching myself up… the writing way. And because your reactions were just too amusing, I am posting this one, just to see what you think about that, and possibly fry your brain. /_evil, wide grin /._ As fot the next chapters, I truly don't know when I will get to them. Currently, I have a spat with my brother, who threatenes to muck with my computer, if I don't do what he tells me to do… and sadly, I am no whiz kid about computers. So I apologize in advance, if I don't manage to update frequently. (And for possibly frying your brain.)

_**Warnings:**_ Awoo, baby, here we go. It's _**SLASH**_ - _**Kenpachi/Harry/Gaou.**_ Yes, you read it right. I've gone off of the deep end. Feel free to scold me, but at least, you were warned. Their relationship is two grown, testerostene filled males/ underage boy, but nothing gross (yet. Maybe). And I shamelessly stole both Ken-chan and Gaou-kun for your viewing pleasure (_snorts)_ and made them slightly … um, **out of character.** Manianical. Sadistic. You know it. And some other cookies are in here... So, warnings are over – if you are still brave enough, then onward to the reading.

* * *

_Everyone's a pacifist between wars. It's like being a vegetarian between meals._

~Colman McCarthy

* * *

You know about super humans, don't you? Heightened senses, high tolerance of pain, practically indestructible and all that jazz.

However, what you don't know, is – there are humans, super humans and Berserkers. Berserkers are genetically enhanced super humans with all of their perks. That makes them ideal for soldiers or bodyguards; however they have one fatal flaw. Because of their nature, they only have to have a Master, which stabilizes them. If a Berserker falls too deep into rage, there's no help for him – he becomes a mindless animal, hell-bent on encountering the state, known simply as '_Haze'_. The finest Berserkers are produced in Japan... and that was exactly where Dursleys intended to purchase a new... playmate for their precious Duddikins.

* * *

"Good day, Dursley-san," An employee bowed to the walrus-like man who disdainfully eyed him, before he lumbered forward. "i hope you'll find a satisfying companion in our prime selection," the employee added, a small smile on his dace. Vernon Dursley grunted. "You'd better I will," he sneered at the straightening employee. "Now, show Dudley what you've got."

The employee nodded mutely, as he gulped. He never did like western customers... they were too barbaric. And this western customer buying a Berserker for his piggish son.. It just spelled disaster.

Suppressing a sigh, he followed the man.

Piggy eyes looked at something. "What are you dawdling here for!" the walrus-lime ma barked up. "Hurry, boy, we don't have time to wait on you."!

The employee watched, his eyes widened a fraction as a small boy strode slowly to his apoplectic Uncle. Or better, limp. Something was wrong with the boy's legs, but the small one strode forward bravely. Only a keen eye could hear those little clanks of metal against metal and boy's little gasps of pain. As the employee opened his mouth to offer his assistance, the boy looked at him with his green eyes, and shook his head, mouthing a thank you. Taken aback, the employee blinked "You don't want help?" he mouthed back, unsure if the boy would understand him.

The boy shook his head, smiling a small smile. "Uncle Vernon would be mad at you," he mouthed back. "Please, I'll be fine. Just show them what they want. "The employee nodded hesitantly. "I – I will. Please forgive me. " The child smiled at him, making him happy for some reason. "Don't worry. And thank you for your offer."

* * *

As Harry predicted, Dudley wanted biggest, baddest and meanest Berserker around. Personally, Harry doubted that Dudley could control him – there was a reason that Berserkers were S-class bodyguards and soldiers.

Dudley was in heaven. To own one of those... his schoolmates would be so green with envy! Not even Scott Winters had one, and his parents were filthy rich! But none of those were big, bad or mean enough...

* * *

Pouting, he approached the door with sign: _**CAUTION:**__ APPROACH WITHOUT S-RANKED PERSONNEL HIGLY UNADVISABLE. __**ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK.**_

Of course, Dudley didn't understand. What he DID understand, was that behind those doors were the biggest, baddest and meanest Berserkers ever, and this was Dudley's chance!

Climbing on the stool, which creaked ominously under his weight, he looked inside. And his jaw dropped.

"Wow..." he whispered reverently.

Inside of that room, there were indeed biggest, baddest and meanest Berserkers ever seen. Tall, muscled and mean, they were chained against the walls with enforced chains. Piggy eyes glittered with greed, as Dudley inhaled a lungful of air.

A moment later, Harry cringed as the piercing porcine shriek of _"Dad!"_ sailed through the air.

* * *

It seemed that someone was dumb enough to pick number 90 and number 11. What those two Berserkers didn't expect, was that their new possible owner was a kid. A pig-kid, in fact.

"Huh... Lookie, Zaraki, they sent us a lunch, " Gaou grinned a savage grin at his 'prey' as he crackled his knuckles. The kid looked from one to another with big eyes, and he positively stank with urine and fear.

It didn't help that they were released... but those were the rules. Before anyone became a Berserkers' Master, they had to make the Berserker to Imprint on them. The imprinting was one part of defense mechanism, for both Berserkers and Masters., A berserker, if imprinted, was safe to be around, because he had a Master. Non-Imprinted Berserker was a walking, talking disaster to happen. Sadly, the Imprinting was a process that differed from one to another Berserker. And currently, there was Dudley, in the most dangerous Sector – no, make that most dangerous room – currently failing to get the two Berserker to Imprint on him.

Kenpachi grinned. "Yer right, Gaou. And he's pleasantly plump, too." He licked his lips, showing his sharp canines off. "Piggy on the fire?" He asked mockingly.

Dudley soiled his pants.

* * *

Harry looked at his cousin's unsuccessful attempt at intimidation of the two hulking masses of muscles and bloodlust. He sighed wearily, grimacing a little. His stumps were hurting like bitch, and he supposed he'd have to change bandages soon. He blinked at the bloodthirsty expressions as the two Berserker's faces changed into ones of disgust and irritation. Oh, no... that was not good. In case of failed imprinting, Berserkers also killed – or at least severely maimed those dumb enough to try to make them Imprint on them.

* * *

One screaming piggy was no fun. One snivelling, soiled piggy was even less. Gaou's lips stretched into disgusted snarl. "Those idiots_ never_ learn, do they?" Kenpachi asked, equally disgusted. "It's always some spoilt rich brat or idiotic yakuza. Fuck, I am tired of this shit." He snarled out grumpily.

Gaou grunted in agreement. He sighed. "Wanna break the piggy?" He asked Kenpachi. The one-eyed man snorted. "No. He's not worth the effort, and I wouldn't trust his mouth nowhere near my dick. Any bright suggestions?" he drawled out sarcastically.

"Hmm. Break his legs and send him his merry way?" Gaou smirked. He always did love some good ol' bloodshed... and this confinement was driving him batty. He had to have some amusement, hadn't he?

The piggy's eyes widened. "No! You can't do that! I'll – I'll tell my Mommy!" Dudley wailed out. Kenpachi eyed him boredly. "And that should scare us, how?" he drawled out. "Kid, crawl back into diapers. You are a millennia too early to play with gown up men." He concluded, dark eye glinting at the quivering mass of fat disdainfully. He grabbed the kid's leg, when –

"_**NO!"**_

* * *

A strong voice practically stopped them in their tracks. And not only that, but the scent of iron, sweat and blood. Slowly, they looked at the intruder.

"_Another_ shrimp?" Gaou asked incredulously. "Do we have Midget Day today or something?" The kid didn't budge. He was pathetically scrawny and dressed in oversized clothes, Kenpachi noted silently. _'Well, those clothes gotta go._' he mused. Out loud, he asked. "And why should we let the piggy go, shrimp?" He addressed the midget gruffly.

The kid straightened out and stepped forward. "Because this piggy is my cousin. " He answered dryly, pushing his thick glasses higher up his nose. Gaou grinned at the kid's frank answer.

"So.. you are offering yourself in his stead, midget?" His voice was pure bloodlust. The boy shrugged. "Maybe." He drawled out. "Will you let him go – unharmed?"

In answer, Kenpachi grabbed the piggy for the scuff of his neck and dumped him in front of the door. Dudley didn't lose time - he quickly crawled to safety, whimpering to himself all the while.

Meanwhile, Kenpachi grabbed the strange kid's hair painfully. "You realize you'll have your knees broken?" He purred out maliciously.

The brat shrugged. "Try my arms, " He offered. Gaou blinked.

* * *

"Afraid of pain, kid?" he sneered.

Roughly, he yanked the brat's right leg. Imagine his surprise when the entire leg was ripped off of the boy's body.

"No." The boy told the horrified pair of men matter-of-factly.- "it's just that, I don't have legs."

* * *

Gaou felt truly dumb, with a bloody prosthetics in his hand. "Huh, didn't know that. " he commented after a short, uncomfortable silence. "So, which part of your arms would you like to have broken?"

Meanwhile, Kenpachi freed the boy of the other prosthesis leg and trousers in one go.

"it's your call, " The boy told Gaou, his face impassive behind the hideous glasses.

The man growled at him. "Hn." Dark eyes roved across the youth's body. "How did you lose 'em?" He asked, curious.

Kenpachi felt the youth stiffen under his hands. "None of your fucking business. Now, would you get to the business or not?" The boy asked sharply, his young voice curiously old.

"You want to have broken arms so badly?" Kenpachi was stumped. The kid was either brave or batshit insane.

"Of course I don't!" Harry answered, irritated. "But a deal is a deal!"

Another lengthy silence stretched between the three of them, interspersed by the nervous shuffling of onlookers.

The two Berserkers looked at each other. "Here's the deal, kid," Kenpachi offered gruffly. "No broken bones for you – instead of that, you have to agree to be our Master... and you will let us have your body anytime and anyplace we want. "

The kid groaned. "You two want to get me into an early grave, don't you?" He asked sourly, much to Kenpachi's and Gaou's amusement. "Fine, but you'll have to behave. Now, would one of you help me with trousers and prosthetics? It's chilly in here!" He grumped out.

Kenpachi grinned as he grabbed the kid in a bridal style, making Harry yelp indignantly.

"What about no?" Gaou asked candidly, as he nonchalantly grabbed the requested items, muscles stretching sinuously across his body.

Green eyes flashed at him. "You..." Harry growled, angrily, making Gaou chuckle at the cute expression of Harry's face.

"Name's Gaou, kid," he offered gruffly. "And the big idiot holding you is Kenpachi."

The kid looked at them. "Hello. I'm Harry." He offered, a small, feeble smile on his lips. "Hope you're prepared for my Uncle."

The berserkers blinked, confused.

"Uncle?" Kenpachi parroted, confused.

A moment later, they knew what Harry meant.

* * *

Gaou blinked. "I think I am scarred for life, " He muttered to his two companions, making Harry break in a fit of laughter and Kenpachi roll his eyes.

Contrarily, one Vernon Dursley, aka. Human Walrus was less than amused at the recent additions to the Dursley household.

_**/To Be Continued/**_


	21. To Catch And To Keep

_TO CATCH AND TO KEEP_

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_**Disclaimer:**_I don't own **_Harry Potter_** or _**Eyeshield 21 **_– only this story and the quirks the characters seem to have.

_**Summary**_**:** Honjou Taka is a good at catching. However, would he catch – and most importantly, keep the one person that intrigued him into chasing after him_? _

_**Shout Out:**__ /Groan/ _I am sorry not to pipe up sooner, but I had to revise my writings. And I've come up to happy and sad news. Happy news: While revising and digging around, I've found a small mountain of prompts, storylines and half-written stories. Sad news: Currently, I am crabby as hell, and there won't be stories for sometime, because real world demands my presence. Will try to update, but it won't be almost every day.

_**Warnings:**_It's _**SLASH**_ – this time it's _**Honjou Taka/Harry Potter.**_ Generally happens after both anime and books. Still mucked about the happenings, though…Ginny and Wizarding World bashing… and of course, Harry on a no – coffee binge as the most terrifying creature ever. Want to know more? Onward on reading!

* * *

It should've been a normal, ordinary day, Taka supposed. He wanted to enjoy his day off – to get up a little later than usual, drink his green tea in peace and leisurely eat fresh, just out of the oven, croissants with vanilla filling, and then, he would stroll in his favourite store to buy groceries – after checking in the sports shop about his new cleats.

One peaceful, ordinary day off the work – meaning gruesome training regime, a courtesy of their sadist of a coach.

'_Was that really too much to ask?'_ Taka wondered to himself bitterly.

Apparently so.

He just had to have that goddamned sort of luck to be in the shop the terrorists hid the bomb in.

God damn it all.

One minute, he had been lazily browsing the shelves, searching for his favourite brand of hair conditioner, and a moment later, he had found himself a hostage of dome dumbass with irrational demands.

Asking for money... was all right.

Asking for a spinach-flavoured ice cream... Was _not._

"Well?" the terrorist asked lazily , having a pistol in his hand, and a bomb in another, the red light blipping threateningly at the horrified witnesses.

"R – Right away, Sir!" A mousy accountant squeaked out, her brown eyes huge behind her ugly black glasses.

Taka sighed.

Terrorist obviously enjoyed his... dominance over the victims – er, witnesses.

Right now, he had a buxom brunette massaging his shoulders, with the threat is she does anything funny, he would send the entire shop sky high, regardless of him being in it at the time.

Idly, he wondered, what would Hiruma think of the crazy man, but decided that it was safer for him not pondering that particular topic.

Nothing could change the fact that they had a status quo – nobody could help them, and they couldn't help themselves, either.

Harry was not a happy camper. Rather, he was one grumpy camper. He wanted to have some peace from all that hulabaloo back in good ol' England, but _nooo,_ those goddamn morons, that called themselves Ministry of Magic just _HAD_ to hang on his heels, didn't they? Besides Ron asking him when he would tie the knot with Gin – Gin – or, in Harry's opinion, She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named – apparently whenever he spoke about her, she found him, one way or another. He didn't know what to think about that – or rather, he didn't_ want_ to think.

Being a Saviour was a tough job. Give him hundred Dementors or Tommy boy any day – but adoring masses were too much for our green-eyed hero. He finally knew why was Dumbledore driven barking mad – too much adoration would get even the sanest man sucking lemon drops, if only to forget the horrors of fangirls, fanboys, fanwomen and fanmen. Fangrandpas and fangradmas, too.

He had persuaded Goblins to make him an Unplottable necklace, that hid his magical signature and anything that could give him away as the Boy –Who – Won. It also made him unremarkable to the wizarding masses – from wizards to squibs. Muggles were exempt, but what the hell, it was enough. And it cost him only half a Basilisk from the Chamber of Secrets. Apparently Goblins made a lucrative trade with the parts and some of their grislier aspects of magic came from blood runes they were so fond of using. And having so much Basilisk blood and meat... it was a wet dream for the little, green-skinned, greedy bastards. They parted with the necklace easily after that.

So, Harry hightailed his famous butt out of United Kingdom – after leaving a letter to his near and dear – Hermione, Lupin and surprisingly, one Severus Snape. Oh, don't get him wrong - he and Snape were still like cats and dogs, but the man had mellowed out after a war, and getting some Basilisk – the other half – got Harry a strong frenemy, if not ally. They would still butt heads, but they respected each other, which baffled the Gryffindor members, except Fred and George something fierce. Draco was exempt of this strange relationship – he was still the git he had been in the school. A lot less smarmy and snobby, but no less uppity ferret.

But back to Harry. Where were we? Ah yes, in Japan. Specifically, in one quaint little shop, that was currently held down by the crazy idiot who threatened to blow it up sky high if his demands were not answered.

* * *

_**Half an hour before**_

Harry yawned as he blinked sleepily. "Must have some coffee..." He growled out, as he scratched his scalp lazily. The water was bubbling cheerfully in its' kettle as he rummaged for his trusty stash of black goodness.

Harry's morning ritual consisted of waking up, checking the perimeter charms for anything strange or life-threatening, get under the shower, dress up and begin breakfast which consisted of black coffee without added sugar or cream and nutrition drink, which he washed down with... you guessed it, black coffee again. In his defence, he never had a normal digestion, thanks to his oh so loving relatives – he had corrected his eating habits while he studied at Hogwarts, but chasing Voldemort's immortality bits all over England chucked his eating habits back into the curb and deeper. It didn't help that _someone_ got him addicted to coffee – cough_Snape_cough - and made him a right beast when there was no coffee to begin the day. Ron reckoned that Harry without his morning coffee was even worse than Hermione at the height of her pregnant cravings. His near and dear quickly learned that the quickest was to Harry's heart – and attention – lead through a cup of good, nauseatingly strong, black coffee. Mrs Weasley tried Harry to abandon this particular vice, but in that battle, she didn't have a chance of snowball in Hell to win. Harry managed to last three days. Which, in Weasley's twins' most humble opinion, had been a mini three-day Armageddon. Voldemort was just unlucky enough to happen across Harry in that particular time – and let's just say that Dark Lord didn't have the time to rue his mistake for long. Cranky Harry was bad enough to get along with. Harry on the no-coffee binge was truly terrifying. The public was, of course, regaled with Harry's heroic defeat of the Dark Lord, but the witnesses knew the terrible, terrible truth. Never, ever, especially if you are Dark Lord, attempt to get between Harry's morning coffee and Harry himself.

Sighing, Harry reached for the container of his beloved addiction. "Oh coffee, how I love thee..." he mumbled, dazed at the thought of soon being graced with the ambrosia of gods. And blinked.

The container... Was _empty. _

Harry blinked again. That... couldn't be true, could it?

His beloved wouldn't leave him, would it?

...

He gulped. Already, he felt tremors settling in his bones. And half an hour later, he knew... he just knew he would be a downright beast on a mission... if he didn't get some coffee in his stomach.

He eyed the empty container in his hand disdainfully, before hurling it against innocent wall.

_CRASH._

The satisfying sound of breaking made a manianical grin appear on his lips. The sound of destruction was so lovely... wasn't it?

He twitched for wand, before he remembered he wanted to be as inconspicuous as possible. Scowling darkly, he snarled. "Merlin's hairy blue balls...Those bastards are _so_ gonna get it!"

* * *

Somewhere in England, there were twin sneezes. "Brother of mine, I think we 've forgot something..." the first twin said to his brother. "Indeed, dearest brother of mine," the other one said mock-seriously. "But for the life of mine, I can't remember what..."

The shiver went up their spines. "Dear, better twin of mine," the first twin said shakily. "I think that someone just danced a jig on my premature grave."

They stiffened as they heard a cheerful hum coming from their little kitchenette.

"You have a coffee... Excellent." A smooth, dark voice said – if not happily, at least contentedly. The first twin blinked.

"Coffee?" he parroted dumbly. "But we don't have any – " He snapped his mouth shut, as both of them paled starkly white. "Dumber half of mine... d'you reckon we forgot to switch the containers – "

The other twin nodded, shaking with terror. "And accidentally awoke the wrath of the last Marauder..." His voice was wobbly with fright.

"We are _DOOMED!"_ Both of them finished in frightened chorus.

* * *

Meanwhile, Harry dressed haphazardly in his jeans and black, skin tight T-shirt. Even if it was cold outside – cold enough for people to wear winter wear, he was incensed enough to forego the usual apparel, get his old, ratty sneakers on his feet and barely had the presence to snatch the keys and some cash, before striding purposefully to the quaint little shop that was selling his salvation.

Surprisingly, people were not eyeing his strange sense of fashion. Instead, their eyes were turned to the shop.

Harry didn't care.

"Move." He snarled at the gawking bystander, who moved away like brainless guppy.

It all went well, until he came to the end of safe zone – meaning, to police men.

"Um, Sir... You can't go in here." A man tried to stop him. "There's a robbery and – "

Harry eyed him with blood shot eyes. "And I care why?" He bit out, snarling.

The policeman gulped. "You could be hurt – and there's a bomb inside somewhere."

Harry looked the shop's entrance like a lion would eye his prey.

"Mhm." He mumbled. "Still not caring."

Policeman sighed. "Please Sir, for your safety, don't – "

Harry overheard him and strode forward.

'Coffee... Coffee... My darling, your Daddy is coming, wait a little, hush, hush...' he hummed to himself a lullaby to stall his tremors.

"Hey! You aren't authorized - !" One of policemen yelped out, before Harry rounded on him and grabbed his nice, blue, just-today-brushed jacket by the lapels.

"Do you have coffee?" Harry hissed in his face, green eyes blazing with fever.

The policeman gulped. "Um, Sir, I am sorry but I don't have – "

Harry snorted. "Then lemme go get some."

The policeman sighed. "I would love to let you get some, but there is a terrorist inside – "

Harry didn't hear him. His mind was already in that terrible, terrible 'gimme-coffee-or-gimme-death' mode all die-hard coffee addicts were so known for.

His eyes were once again focused on the entrance of the quaint little shop that held his salvation. He pushed the policeman away, as if he were made from a papier-mâché, and strode forward.

"Who is the nutso that's walking to his death?" One policeman asked his shaking colleague. The said colleague groaned. "And why the hell didn't you stop him? You had pistol'n all – "

"You never mess with a man's coffee." The policeman interrupted his colleague. "Besides," he shivered in remembrance "You didn't see his eyes, Shori."

Both of them watched the 'nutso' disappear into the shop.

Harry was surprised and relieved that he wasn't stopped on his mission. "At least there are still people that know the meaning of a good, strong coffee in the mornings," He pondered for a moment, before he entered the shop, his tremors subsiding a little.

"Coming, precious," He muttered to himself, an insane little grin on his face.

* * *

The door opened, and both captives and a captor looked at the person, who was insane enough to step in soon-to-be hellhole incredulously.

"Oi, you!" The terrorist barked out. "What th' fuck are ya doing here?"

He was shot a poisonous green look. "Shut up, retard." The stranger mumbled, taking his attention away from the flabbergasted and rapidly angered terrorist. Green eyes looked at the notice tables above the aisles. "Why the fuck can't they use some good, old English for us poor foreigners and not their excuses for chicken scratch?" He demanded, peeved.

Taka looked at the man. He was smaller than him, with unremarkable features – wild, shoulder-length black hair, tight washed out blue jeans with some stains and equally as tight black T-shirt with sneakers on his feet. How on the earth their strange... visitor didn't catch cold in his apparel yet, it was a mystery to Taka.

"Answer me!" The terrorist barked out, his mousey features tightening in something decidedly ugly.

The black-haired man sighed, annoyed. "Shut the fuck up for a minute, will ya?" He demanded, the vowels of strange language rolling off of his tongue harshly. "Or better, get your ass up ad help me find my precious!"

The white-haired American football player blinked. 'His precious?' he thought dumbly.

"Who the hell are you, to tell me what to do?" the small terrorist screeched out, making the witnesses wince.

"Somebody who will murder you if you don't help him this instant!" the black-haired man snapped out peevishly.

A taken-aback silence.

"Y –you _wouldn't!"_ The terrorist squawked out. "If you do, I'll – I'll send this whole shop sky high!"

The slender man still looked at the chicken scratch, obviously searching for something. "Please do," he waved the threat off absentmindedly. "However, do it later – now help me search for my lovely."

He muttered out, his eyes looking at the shelves.

"Um... What are you searching for, sir?" the timid accountant spoke – more like squeaked – out.

"My lovely one." The stranger answered her, making her blush all to her ears. "The ambrosia of the Gods themselves..." He sighed dreamily.

He shuddered, as if having an orgasm. "I can't live without her generosity..."

The accountant sighed. "Um... Do you, by any chance, search for this?" she pointed at the shelf with various brands of coffee products.

* * *

Harry's eyes lit up. "Yeah!" He agreed enthusiastically. But before he even stepped in the direction of his black goddess, an annoying squawk froze him in his place.

"Don't move... or you can see your precious go good-bye."

The mousy terrorist had a smug smirk on his face.

Green eyes widening, Harry yelped out. "You wouldn't!" He squeaked.

The terrorist grinned, showing his rotting teeth. "I so would..." he purred out. "Slave!" he barked out, making the busty girl jump with fright. "Get me one of those – and no funny business!"

Shaking, the girl walked to the shelf and took a tin box of ground black coffee.

Harry gulped.

The bastard wouldn't do what Harry was thinking, would he?"

His tremors increased.

But that ugly smirk on his face...

Yes, he _so_ would.

* * *

Grinning maliciously, the terrorist emptied the tin can on the floor... and to add the insult to injury, he pissed on it.

That was too much for our already tormented hero.

* * *

"_YOU INFIDEL HEATHEN!" _

Harry roared out. With speed that nobody would attribute him for having, he jumped forward, a feat that had Taka widen his eyes. In a blink, he punched the idiot in the gut, making him squeal like a pig...and having him let go of the Big Red Button in the process.

Absentmindedly, Taka caught the remote, as he watched the altercation between the pissed wizard in hiding and his unfortunate prey.

"Gimme the remote!" The ex-terrorist squealed. Harry grinned maliciously. "Oh, why would I?" he purred out. "You were a bad, bad boy, defiling my goddess like that. And bad, bad boys deserve their punishment." The look in his eyes was positively feral.

The terrorist gulped. "Because we'll be singing choir in exactly thirteen seconds," He announced, a bead of sweat rolling down his pasty white face.

Harry blinked. "Do I know you?" He mumbled.

He wrinkled a nose at the man's sweat. "N – No, you don't. How would you?" the man babbled out nervously.

Harry tilted his head. "You're right, " He agreed amiably. "My brain must've been addled from not having the daily intake of my coffee." The terrorist gulped. "However, " Harry continued mercilessly," You are disturbingly similar to one particular rat, Did I tell you how I hate rats?" He asked conversationally, while the man began shaking even harder.

"R – R – Really?" he emitted a high – pitched squeak. "P – Please, remote – "

Harry blinked.

"If I give it to you, do you swear you will cease with that absurd behaviour and let us go?"

The man nodded fervently. "Yes, yes, I promise!"

* * *

Taka's eyes widened. "Hey!" He called to the pair. "Five seconds – "

"Throw it to me!" The Coffee – man called to him.

"But – " Taka hesitated.

"Don't _dawdle,_ you imbecile!" The Coffee-man roared at him. _"THROW IT!"_

Grimacing, Taka threw the thing and fervently prayed.

He was never a religious person – especially not after his forays with Hell Commander and infamous _Hail Devil_ pass, but in this instant, he revised his beliefs.

He threw.

* * *

A greedy glint in the man's eyes froze him.

The worst was, his throw was out of whack, and with Coffee-man turned with his back to Taka, it was very doubtful they would survive those next five seconds.

Taka's eyes widened to saucer-like proportions, as the Coffee-man snatched the tiny remote out of the air effortlessly, not even looking at the trajectory of the throw... or that Big Red Button.

"Here you go," the Coffee-man gave the remote back to the terrorist.

Taka wanted to groan.

* * *

The terrorist grinned. "Why, thank you," he told Harry with sugary voice.

Harry had to repress a shudder. "And now for our bargain...?" He asked, as his eyebrow arched in imitation of Snape's look.

"Is off." The terrorist told Harry candidly. "Get off of me, and I won't blast this shop into tiny pieces."

Harry sighed.

"Suit yourself." He hauled himself off the man.

The terrorist growled.

And pressed the button.

* * *

Harry watched the idiot press the button boredly.

_Nothing. _

The terrorist blinked. And pressed the Big Red once again.

_Still nothing. _

Press.

_Nothing. _

Press.

_Nothing._

"What the _fuck?"_ He yelped out, his eyes wide with confusion and fear.

Harry grinned a sweet, malicious grin.

"Didn't your momma teach you to honor the bargains that you make?" He questioned the copiously sweating terrorist happily.

He blinked. "Oh, wait. She didn't... after all, your momma was a really ugly toad, wasn't she... Mr. Umbridge?"

* * *

The entire farce ended relatively quietly. The man was still in shock that his so cleverly executed attack was halted by one coffee maniac.

Harry managed to slink away from the furor, happy that nobody recognized him.

And irked because he still didn't get his beloved coffee.

"Hey! Wait up!" He heard a known voice call after him.

Harry blinked. It was that... white haired... He? She? That threw him the Big Red Button.

"Yes?" He growled out. He was so not in mood for anything that was even remotely near yapping the idiots called socializing.

The white haired ... Man. Yes, man, held up a big Styrofoam cup, filled with the darkest, sweetest and most sinful liquor known to mankind.

"Uh..." Brown eyes looked in green ones sheepishly. "Coffee?" The man finished lamely.

Harry smiled widely. "Why, you read my mind," He answered cheerfully, before grabbing the cup out of the man's hands and downing it in three gulps.

He sighed dazedly. All was right with his world now... he just had to buy coffee somewhere.

Blinking, he felt a warm coat over his shoulders.

"Huh?" He looked at the other man inquiringly, a small flush on his cheeks.

* * *

Taka had to smile at the man's embarrassed and confused face. When he wasn't De-Caf Monster, the man was... cute. He was smaller than Taka, reaching just under Taka's chin.

"Thank you for saving us... You know, earlier," Taka said with a warm smile on his face. Usually, he would react like block of ice, but this man somehow made him want to smile. And besides, he was just too amusing not to like.

Harry blinked. "Huh? Did I do something?" He asked, clueless.

Taka nodded. "You barged into shop and subdued the terrorist... Umbridge was his name, I believe. "

Green eyes widened with recognition. "Ah! You mean the toadie back here!" Harry groaned, embarrassed. "In truth, I just wanted my coffee." He hung his head, cheeks flushed with pink.

Taka chuckled. "Yeah. Oh, and I am Honjou Taka. Pleased to meet you."

Harry sighed. "Well, and I am Potter Harry." He grumbled out, snuggling into the warm coat.

Taka nodded. "So you are a tourist here?" He asked, feeling a faint disappointment. He perked up at Harry's shake of head. "Uh, no. I am rather... permanently here." Green eyes looked into brown ones sheepishly.

Inwardly, Taka breathed a sigh of relief. "That's good." He muttered to himself. "You are rather good at catching things."

Harry blinked. "Well, it's a gift," He shrugged nonchalantly, inhaling the spicy musk of the dark blue cloak he was covertly snuggling in.

Taka hummed thoughtfully. "So... You ever played American Football?" He asked curiously.

He had caught his saviour... now it remained just how to persuade the man to be allowed to keep him.

**_/The End/Owari/_**


	22. Road To Valhalla

_ROAD TO VALHALLA_

_

* * *

_

_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own **_Harry Potter _**or **_Vinland saga_**. Nor do I own the song, it's from Elton John - it's called_** Valhalla, **_if you want to listen to it, go to YouTube.

_**Summary:**_ Valhalla is a home of brave warriors...but one of them is called back in life because it wasn't his time to die yet. Join Wulf, Askeladd and Bjorn in their adventure of slaying Voldemort and travelling the road back to Valhalla.

_**Shout Out:**_ Well, if you ask me what I was doing, because there was no hair no peep from me, it was this! (Among all that work outside on the fields and in front of the house... but, oh well). I stumbled on _**Vinland Saga**_ accidentally, and because I am history geek, it sucked me in. Then, the plot bunny came, and I just had to write it out. Basically, Harry is thrown back in time of Vikings, and teams up with Askeladd and Bjorn... I won't tell more, but that is the gist of it. And oh yeah, he's the true Boy Who Lived – his family gave him away, because they thought his brother was _The One_ _/sarcastically/._ Anyway, this is my gift to you for Halloween – by the way, _**happy belated Halloween!**_ Thanks for your good wishes, I made it through the exam /_happy sludge on the chair/._ _**As for everyone who wants to translate my fics in another language, send me e-mail – is in my profile**_ - _**and we'll talk about it!**_ Until then, it stands that all fics I am writing, will be in English language.

_**Warnings: **__**Slash**_ – when it isn't? – this time, snack on _**Askeladd/Harry(Wulf)/Bjorn**_. As always_**, this is AU –**_ so _**expect messed timelines**_. I primarily messed with _**Vinland Saga**_ timelines and characters, the _**Harry Potter**_ universe will be coming up sometime later. And oh yeah, _**I ripped up the poem**_, so it fits in the context better. _**Mucking around in Norse mythology**_ too, so the descriptions of mentioned gods may not be accurate.

* * *

_The seadogs have all sailed their ships  
Into the docks of dawn  
While the sirens sit and comb their hair  
And twiddle with their thumbs  
_

Death. Something that almost all living and sentient beings feared, because to be dead meant to step across some invisible barrier into unknown, never to return back into the world of living.

Death was absolute. No ifs, ands, buts or whatever other little clauses humans were so fond of. Either you were dead or you weren't; there was no middle way.

Oftentimes, people forgot that death was a companion to life. When they encountered with the proof of its' existence, most of the tucked their proverbial tails between their legs and ran away as fast as they could.

But not Vikings. They accepted death as a part of their lives and even revelled in it – for even if they were killed, they went into death joyously, with feral grins on their faces, cheerful hearts and bloodied swords.

For them, death was the only gateway to Valhalla, to the home of ancient heroes and Thor's worshippers.

The fallen were awaited by Valkyres, the beautiful woman warriors and companions of Odin himself, and the Hall was ever full of cheerful company where enemies became comrades and exchanged ever-full horns of mead and the stories of their heroic deeds in battles. Yes, the afterlife of Vikings was truly worth to be killed in some gruesome battle, far away from home and your family, be that on the wild sea or solid ground.

* * *

_Oh Thor above the mountain  
Look down upon your children  
This is their heaven where they're told  
To bring their galleons_

"Where is Wulf?" the tall man with piercing steel blue eyes asked the beautiful redhead. He was clothed in dark brown trousers with saffron tunic and his trusty armour. He was still clothed in his ridiculous toga, still drenched in his and his enemies' blood. His hair was cut short, a muted yellow colour, as was his trimmed beard and moustaches.

His face was weathered – somewhat noble looking and yet the lines were too cruel for the man to be considered good looking. In short, he likened to the vulture of some sort or an intelligent predator, what with his lazy-lidded eyes and all.

The seductive redheaded woman shrugged helplessly. "I don't know, brave warrior. " She replied to the man. She was clothed in light blue ensemble that flattered her generous curves. She smiled at the warrior softly, beckoning him.

"Mayhap he's already in the Hall. Come now – " She stretched her milky white arms invitingly.

The man frowned further.

"Not until you tell me where is Wulf," He insisted, his scratchy voice unmovable.

The Valkyre pouted. "But I told you, I don't know!" She exclaimed, her honey – coloured eyes flashing with anger. "I would've known if he came here."

The man sighed a long-suffering sigh. "Wulf, you troublesome bastard, "He muttered to himself fondly. He looked back to his... hostess. "Smaller man, clothed in dark tunic and trousers, with chain mail over and wolf's pelt over his head?" he tried again. "He died at the – "The man swallowed his bitter feelings. "He saved my life. " He managed to choke out.

The redhead nodded thoughtfully. "I understand, but there was no such man here." She told him regretfully. "Fridwulfa would've loved to greet him if he were," She offered kindly, but the man scowled at her even more.

"I don't care what she would or wouldn't do," He snarled at her, pissed out. "Wulf is here somewhere and I_ need _to find him!"

* * *

_And this heaven is the home  
Of every man who loves his sword  
And he uses it for freedom  
To preach the word of Thor_

"Askeladd!" A gravelly voice called out. The man – who was now known as Askeladd – whirled around, steel blue eyes widening with delight. "Bjorn, you old dog!" He called out, grinning happily. "What are you doing here?"

And it was indeed Bjorn. The tall, dark-haired man was clothed in his usual ensemble, a simple helmet with nose guard and dark trousers along with dark brown cloak with chain mail under it.

He looked healthier – his hair was still as wild as it had ever been, and he wielded his bastard sword with practised ease.

Brown eyes looked at the grinning Askeladd seriously. "Searching for Wulf. Have you seen him?" Bjorn asked, his voice concerned.

Askeladd blinked and then frowned. "No, I didn't. What the fuck is going on?" He muttered to himself, scowling. "Wulf wouldn't have left us here – "

Both warriors eyed each other, concerned. Something was stinking to high heavens here, and they intended to find out just what it was!

* * *

Wulf was a part of them, no matter what. The man was Askeladd's companion since the blond's teen years; he was his faithful shadow. "He was smaller, barely half an head taller than Thorfinn, and that wasn't saying much, Usually, he was clothed in dark tunic and black trousers, and he carried around two swords he was surprisingly adept in wielding. His messy dark hair was done in haphazard braid that was covered with wolf's head of his fur pelt. His face was pale and always cleanly shaven with a pair of the most stunning green eyes set in. Oftentimes, Askeladd teased his small companion that Wulf would make for a very convincing maid if he tried. Usually, Wulf only snapped or growled at him; however if he were ever truly angry – well, Bjorn had been a witness to Askeladd running away from their irate green-eyed companion, who wielded his swords with ease.

If Wulf was pissed... then that meant no home – cooked meals from Wulf, and having to eat Askeladd's... cooking attempts. Both Askeladd and Bjorn avoided that fate with fervour; not that Askeladd was a bad cook, but Wulf was something else. Even Thorfinn, as wild and distrustful he had been, couldn't resist Wulf's meals.

Wulf kept them together. He was their support, especially Bjorn's, when Askeladd was too stubborn to accept the silent man's friendship. Wulf was their bridge, their sense of sanity, and their home.

Without Wulf...

* * *

Bjorn gulped. The fool had ran back to help Askeladd, knowing that there was almost no chance for him to come out alive.

Just for that, Bjorn had done something he never thought he would.

He punched Askeladd.

Yes, he was wounded, grievously so, and his vision was still wacky from that berserker rage – but when he found out – from Thorfinn, no less – he stood up and punched the son of a bitch in his ugly face.

Even if his wound worsened, it was still worth it.

Dying by Askeladd's sword... was as much mercy as it was a punishment. He had died honourably, like true warrior of Valhalla, and he punished Askeladd at the same time.

It hurt that Askeladd saw them only as a means to an end, no better than animals.

With Wulf, Askeladd's tendencies were tempered to a degree, but in that forest... even Wulf couldn't avoid Askeladd's tongue-lashing.

And yet... the fool ran back – and it was a good thing he had, otherwise Askeladd would be as good as dead.

* * *

They buried Wulf – built him a pyre and burned his body, swords, wolf cloak and all. In Bjorn's opinion, Wulf should have been given much better funeral, but they had little time for a traditional one, so the pyre had to do.

It had been a relief when he had died. He would see Wulf again, be with Wulf again - Bjorn didn't know when his obsession with Wulf began, but he was acutely aware of it.

For Wulf, he would forsake Askeladd. For Wulf, he would kill, maim, torture, even rape if needed be. No woman held his attention as much as Wulf had. One look in those jewelled eyes, and he was done for.

* * *

He had joined Askeladd one autumn morning. True, Askeladd had charisma, wits and most importantly balls to do what was needed to be done and go where no sane man dared to tread.

But when he saw Wulf...

His first impression wasn't exactly favourable – more in style of - _what-is-that-scrawny-kid-doing-here_ – than anything else.

And the kid's choice of..._ headwear_... was not exactly... _professional_. Really, a wolf's head?

* * *

However, all that vanished when he looked into those green eyes.

By _Thor_, those eyes...

If Bjorn wasn't so level – headed, he'd sell his soul to devil the moment those green eyes zeroed on him.

And really, he would sell it – the moment he saw Wulf fight.

Bjorn respected strength as any other warrior would - and Askeladd had it in spades.

But Wulf... Was a class unto himself.

Bjorn could compare him to the famous Thors, the Troll of Jomsgard – but Wulf's strength was not of a brute persuasion, but in his lethal dance with his two swords. If Bjorn hadn't seen the green – eyed man in action, he wouldn't have believed it.

Everyone – even Thorfinn - in their little group - knew better than getting in tiff with Wulf.

* * *

Bjorn turned to the Valkyre.

_Something was wrong..._

"Where is Wulf?" He repeated the question.

* * *

_Seek you find your place with me  
Men of iron, men of steel  
Only the brave hear the hammers ring  
In the courts of the Queens, in the halls of the Kings_

Askeladd held his breath. They had to find Wulf – their little wolf – they just had to. He still had to apologize for the crass words he had spoken in that forest – and for getting Wulf killed.

Losing Wulf was one of the hardest moments in his life. The slender man followed him since they were smooth – cheeked brats, still playing with wooden swords. He had named the small boy and took care of him, and in return, Wulf became his companion and unyielding protector. Come Hell ro high water, Wulf followed him. The damned bastard had some convoluted sense of honour; and one of their worse rows were over slaying Thors – Wulf took care of Thorfinn, and even taught him how to fight with blades. However, the first time Thorfinn attempted to slay Askeladd; Wulf was there and bonked the foolish lad into unconsciousness.

And that sparked Askeladd's deal with Thors' wayward son – if not out of amusement, at least to appeal to Wulf's sense of honour. Askeladd was still amused that Thorfinn was so... _close _to Wulf.

* * *

Wulf also unofficially adopted the little brat, meaning Thorfinn had unknowingly acquired great protector, if the need ever arose.

Watching the pyre with Wulf's body burning – Askeladd gulped. He prayed to the gods that Wulf would find his peace.

From there on, Askeladd was a loose cannon. True, he joined that... princely brat, Canute, but even his great vision of Avalon, of serving King Arthur, didn't help him. What was his purpose, without having Wulf by his side, anyway?

He enjoyed pissing Wulf off; it was one of his sources of amusement. He still had the wounds from that time when he had gone too far, and Wulf bit him in the neck in their brawl.

His body heated just thinking about that particular memory.

No woman, however exquisite she was, looked lovelier than eight year old Wulf with flushed cheeks, anger-filled eyes and bloody lips snarling wordlessly at him in his rage.

Of course, but of them had their fair share of wenches in their lives - but no woman could brag that she snatched either of their hearts.

* * *

Askeladd liked being clean – but even more than that, he liked to wash with Wulf, or at least watch Wulf washing himself off.

Because both of them were men, there was no reason for anyone to think that Askeladd had any ulterior motives. And so, Askeladd was treated to the glorious sight of his companion disrobing and washing – all taut skin, wiry muscles and scars - Askeladd knew each and every one of them, from the smallest one on Wulf's left palm under his middle finger, to some of the biggest - his scarred back, because he dared to protect Askeladd from some of his father's more... rowdy friends, and his upper torso, when he came dangerously close to dying on one of their escapades, when Askeladd was still as green as grass in the art of piracy.

Yet... in Askeladd's eyes, Wulf was beautiful. Like some kind of a nymph the Romans liked to sing and tell tales about in their songs, worshipping their beauty and mystery.

And that was Wulf. His companion, almost-brother, his mystery and, in Askeladd's heart of hearts... his unrequited love.

* * *

"Come, brave warriors, Valhalla is awaiting you." The buxom brunette invited them, smiling warmly, her green eyes glittering in anticipation. "We look forward to hearing about your fights and victories." She was clothed in white gown, similar to one her redheaded friend wore. But Askeladd was deaf to her invitation.

"Not without Wulf!" He retorted coldly. "I know he died, I know he's here somewhere... so why the fuck are you hiding him?"

The Valkyre blinked. Those two were stubborn ones, all right. No amount of persuasion could deter them. She sighed.

* * *

_SKREE! SKREE!_

The harsh calls of two ravens jolted the group out of the dilemma.

The redheaded Valkyre paled. "By Thor's hammer..." She muttered. "If that's what I think it is... your little friend is either in deep trouble or has mighty protectors. "

Bjorn looked at the two vultures in awe.

Huginn and Muninn had arrived.

* * *

_There's long boats in the harbour  
Which arrive there every hour  
With the souls of the heroes  
Whose blood lies on the flowers  
_

Green eyes stared into steel gray ones. He was standing in front of the mightiest of Viking gods, and yet, he was still as impudent as ever.

Odin was tall man, in his prime seven feet tall and appropriately bulked out, with golden and chestnut streaked lion's mane of hair and beard. His chest was bare and hairless, and he wore brown pants and boots. If it were not for that... _feeling,_ Wulf would've thought that Odin was just a mere mortal.

"You shouldn't have been here, little one," The god's voice was like rumbling of a distant thunder, rolling over Wulf's skin.

They were walking at the shore – the sun was rising up, and distantly, Wulf could see new boats approaching the harbour, full of rowdy and bloodied warriors.

He looked back at the god.

"Yet I've died. " Wulf deadpanned, his scratchy voice oddly hissing in the calm morning.

Odin nodded wearily. "And yet, your seat is not yet ready for you." He sighed, stroking his beard wearily. "Thor was most displeased, but it couldn't be helped. "

Wulf was silent.

"And I believe two of your friends are causing ruckus in their search for you," Odin added, grinning slightly at the warrior's startled glance.

"What? They are here?" Wulf asked incredulously. Odin nodded. "Askeladd and Bjorn? Yes."

* * *

Vehemently, Wulf cursed. "And Throfinn?" He asked, concerned. Thors' brat was too hard-headed and uppity, but Wulf looked after him like he would after his own son – if he ever had one.

Odin snorted. "He lives. His fate is not fulfilled yet. "

Wulf exhaled a sigh of relief. "Thank Odin – "He muttered out, much to the amusement of the aforementioned god.

Odin smiled indulgently at the suddenly awkward man. "Don't mention it," he replied cheerfully. Sobering, he looked at the horizon.

"Your fate is not here," He told still faintly embarrassed green – eyed man.

"In fact, you shouldn't even be here – not in this time, anyway," he continued, aware of the suddenly stiff body of his listener.

"You are to return back into your time and fulfill the task you've been given."

Wulf snarled at those words. He did not like where that was going.

Not. At. _All!_

_

* * *

_

"But I already died, " He argued. "How would I get back to somewhere I technically don't exist?"

He shuffled uncomfortably, inhaling the sharply –scented air of the sea. The wolf's pelt gave him an illusion of being half – wolf, half-man, black and silver fur gleaming in the dawning light.

Odin had to chuckle. This mortal was cunning and persistent, two traits that Loki would have a heyday over, if the two of them ever met.

"Let us not worry about that, little one," He reassured his young companion, amused twinkle in his eyes.

They walked some time in silence.

"So I have to go back," Wulf concluded with a heavy sigh. Odin nodded mutely.

"May I... at least see them?" Wulf asked hesitantly. This time, Odin had to hide a smile. "Later. For now, I have a special someone who wants to see you."

* * *

Wulf blinked, baffled with the god's secrecy. A hand landed on his shoulder, making him tense.

"Hello, Wulf." That voice!

Slowly, Wulf turned. "Thors." He acknowledged the tall, dark – haired and dark – eyed man cautiously.

Thors smiled; his face transforming from a stern visage to a more friendly one. "I wanted to meet you," He explained softly. "I was watching you – and Thorfinn," he ended awkwardly. "Thank you for protecting and teaching him."

Snorting, Wulf dismissed the thanks. "The brat could've done just fine on his own," he grumbled out. "I only straightened some kinks out of his fighting.

At that, Thors snorted incredulously. "_Straightened _out? Wulf, you basically _created _a whole new style of fighting – and you _adapted_ it for Thorfinn, when you could've left him with daggers and some ruddy hints!" He exclaimed, incredulous at Wulf dismissal.

Wulf shrugged. "Well, yes," He mumbled out. "It pained my eyes, watching him flail around like a goose with its head cut off anyway," He ended sourly, making both god and mortal chuckle in amusement.

"I would like to fight you someday," Thors told Wulf fondly, a small grin on his face. "To find out how you differ from that big lug, Thorkell."

Wulf snorted. "Tell him he owes me a fight," He told the man flippantly. "The ass insulted my swords." Thors nodded. "Will do," He nodded impishly. "But you owe me one."

Sighing, Wulf nodded. "Right, right," He waved at the man. "Greet Thorfinn for me, when he gets here, will you?"

Thors nodded, his face solemn. "Will do, Wulf. Come back soon." He turned around and departed for the main hall, with two pairs of eyes looking at his back.

* * *

"You've made a friend out of him, "Odin remarked softly. Wulf sighed, his green eyes distant. "I only did what I wished my father would for me," He pointed out silently. Odin's eyes narrowed at Wulf's cryptic answer. Wulf's life hadn't been pleasant by any stretch of imagination, not even before he appeared in this time.

Because of those unusual circumstances, Odin knew about Wulf's life. How could he not, what with Freya's fuming over those relatives of his.

He understood prejudice – at least to some degree, as he was one God that represented magical side in the... scheme of things, so to say.

The... mishap, which sent Wulf in his time, was somewhat of a blessing in disguise for the green-eyed man. True, there was bloodshed and violence, and more often than not, Wulf's life hung on thin line, just a hair's breadth from death, and yet, Wulf survived time and again.

Odin was loath to send the young one back in his own time, if not for his fondness for the man, then because Thor's and Freya's whining, which would undoubtedly ensue, even if the two of them knew it was an unavoidable course. Nobody went against the Fates, after all... not even gods.

At least he could let Wulf say goodbye to his friends.

* * *

_And this heaven is the home  
Of every man who loves his sword  
And he uses it for freedom  
To preach the word of Thor_

_SKREE! SKREE!_

Wulf winced at the sound. The ravens were uncomfortably loud, and from the looks, they were bigger than ordinary species.

"They are here, "Odin muttered. "I will give you some time before sending you off." He nodded to Wulf curtly, his eyes a little... soft? As soon as Wulf blinked, the god vanished out of his sight.

* * *

"Wulf!" He heard Askeladd's call. Two pairs of quick steps made him turn around, smiling slightly at his two friends.

... Bjorn, coming here, he could understand. Wulf frowned But Askeladd? Wasn't the old bastard way too cunning and stubborn to die?

He found himself in the blond man's bear hug, inhaling Askeladd's unique scent of iron, leather and stale sweat.

"You fucking _idiot,_" He heard Askeladd's mumble in his wolf's pelt. "Why did you do it? Why didn't you go with them?"

Green eyes blinked. Askeladd's voice was... Broken? Hoarse and full of grief and anger. Not even when Askeladd's mother died, Wulf heard Askeladd speak with such amount of grief and anguish in his voice.

"I promised to protect you, not the bratling," Wulf's words were muffled within that iron armour Askeladd was so fond of wearing.

Askeladd barked out a harsh laugh. "_Hah!_ Always stubborn to the end, eh, Wulf?" He loosened his embrace to look at the green-eyed man.

Quirking a small smile, his sharp gray eyes softened just a bit. "You haven't changed a bit," Askeladd muttered to the caped man fondly.

Wulf quirked a dry eyebrow. "And I see you've gotten senile" He snarked back.

Askeladd flinched at the accusation.

* * *

Wulf just had that presence... and ability to make Askeladd second-guessing his decisions. It was a good thing that Wulf did so, but right now, Wulf's small quip reminded Askeladd of his... little speech in that Thor – forsaken forest.

"I'm sorry." He muttered out, lowering his head remorsefully.

Wulf stared at the man. Askeladd never, _ever_ apologized... not sincerely, anyway. Oh, he _did_ apologize, if they were in a pinch, shrewd diplomat that he was, but... even Wulf had to be content only with some gesture on Askeladd's part if the man wanted to apologize for some stupid stunt that hurt Wulf in some way.

And this... was the first time Askeladd apologized to Wulf, face-to-face, and truthfully, Wulf wanted to be mad at the selfish bastard, but with Askeladd looking like some kind of half-demented kicked puppy...

He swallowed. "Quit doing that stupid face, idiot," He rebuked Askeladd gruffly. "It makes me queasy and I don't intend to listen to your whining how much it hurts if it becomes stuck like this."

Askeladd's hurt and surprised face transformed into one of tentative hope. "Wulf...?" He asked quietly, almost afraid of the answer.

Wulf snorted. "Just don't do it again," He commented, shuffling from foot to foot uncomfortably.

* * *

He looked at Bjorn. The silent warrior watched the reunion of the two friends stonily, even if his heart was singing with happiness of having found Wulf.

Askeladd, realising what Wulf wanted, let him go, smirking.

The moment Wulf was free, he was hugged again within an inch of his life by tall, silent bodyguard that burrowed his nose into Wulf's fur – covered head.

* * *

Smiling slightly, Wulf embraced strong warrior, noting the faint tremors in his wide frame. "I'm here, Bjorn," He told the man quietly. Bjorn only hugged him tighter, assaulting Wulf's sensitive nose with his scent – fire and ashes and crisp winter and his own unique scent.

"Wulf..." Bjorn muttered out softly. In that moment, nothing else mattered, only Wulf, only his scent and body and him being alive... err... dead, but the fact was, Wulf was _here_. Closing his eyes, he inhaled Wulf's scent – wolf's fur, leather and Wulf's sweat and the ever present hint of iron.

* * *

Askeladd felt a faint spike of jealously at the sight, but he ruthlessly beaten it down. If anyone, Bjorn had the greater right to be close to Wulf, what with them being his unofficial bodyguards and each other's friends. Sometimes, he envied Bjorn Wulf's company. It irked him, watching them being so close to each other when they were eating or discussing the plans... because even if Wulf was the most fucking dense idiot in the matters of love, Askeladd could see Bjorn's attraction to the green-eyed man like he could see sun on the cloudless sky. True, Bjorn was discreet, and most of people wouldn't even known that little tidbit - but Askeladd wasn't most of people. So he tortured himself with watching them – and the last scene drove him to that... jealously episode in the forest, thus inadvertedly killing Wulf.

He didn't expect Bjorn punching the living daylights out of him – it hurt like nobody's business, by the way – but neither did he retaliate. Besides, he felt he deserved that little love-tap Bjorn gave him.

Bjorn's eyes were desperate – full of grief and shattered hopes and desolation – just like Askeladd's own were. And it was – for Bjorn – a mercy killing, to fall under Askeladd's sword, to join Wulf wherever the green-eyed man may be.

Askeladd... envied him.

* * *

"Let's go to the Hall, shall, we?" Askeladd asked with a faked cheer.

That separated the pair, Wulf being unusually sombre.

"I can't." Wulf answered softly.

That froze both of the warriors on their spots. "You _can't?_" Bjorn parroted dumbly. Wulf ducked his head, abashed.

"There's no place for me yet." He explained cryptically.

Askeladd's eyes narrowed. "What have you done this time, Wulf?" He growled out, peeved.

"It's more like what he didn't do," Odin's voice startled the group.

This time, he had on his cloak and pointy hat.

Bjorn pushed Wulf behind his back gently. "Odin," he acknowledged the god, his voice soft and filled with wonder.

Askeladd sighed. "And that is?" He asked curtly. Currently, he was peeved because they were interrupted and unpleasantly surprised with the news of Wulf's imminent departure.

* * *

Odin looked at the oddball ragtag group.

Wulf was the smallest and currently between two protective friends – Odin wondered whether Wulf knew about his friends'... feelings toward him. Judging by his cluelessness, he didn't.

Askeladd was clearly the clever one out of the bunch, the leader, and Bjorn was human juggernaut, what with that berserker mode of his. If the situation wasn't so serious, Odin would have smiled at the unconscious protectiveness the two warriors unintentionally displayed to him.

He sighed. Stormy gray eyes looked into steel gray ones. "Wulf is not from your time," He said bluntly. "He has to return back to where he came from – "

He sighed wearily at Askeladd's look of dawning horror upon his face.

* * *

"He's from the future, isn't he?" Askeladd whispered, feeling sick. It could be the only reason for Wulf's strange clothes, strange speech and...

Belatedly, he felt Wulf tense. "Don't want to. " The man grated out, his voice hoarse. "Have to..."

* * *

Bjorn's hands clenched in hard fists. He should have felt betrayed that Wulf omitted this little tidbit from him but he was more concerned about the green-eyed man himself. And judging by Askeladd's behaviour, future wasn't exactly a nice place to be. He felt... helpless and cheated. Helpless that he couldn't protect Wulf, and cheated because their reunion was so short.

Odin sighed. "Wulf was never meant to come here," His voice was heavy, grating on the nerves of the three Vikings. "He was meant to stay in his own time and go on with his life. However, that night changed it all." Both Askeladd and Bjorn felt Wulf's shudder against them.

"Somehow, Wulf fell through the time window and landed in this time," Odin continued slowly. "You know the story from here on, Askeladd," He smiled at the frowning blond wearily. "But the fact is, he doesn't belong here, and he has to return to his time."

* * *

"You are not telling us something. " Surprisingly, it was Bjorn who spoke out, Odin grimaced. "Yes," He admitted gruffly. "Wulf is bound to prophecy. Before they were born, there was a Dark Lord - a man who used his magic for evil, named Voldemort. He terrorised other magic users, and it had gotten so far that the Fates had to intervene. Thus, the prophecy was told, that the only one who could kill Voldemort – would be born.

"And that is Wulf," Askeladd surmised with soft, thoughtful voice, his brain already strategizing. Odin nodded, his mouth quirking upward at Askeladd's quick deduction. "Exactly. However, two others fit the prophecy's parameters, and sadly, Wulf's brother was mistaken for saviour, and Wulf was carted off to his relatives."

* * *

**"_WHAT!"_ **Bjorn bellowed out, furious. Askeladd was no better. In fact, he was even worse, having to grow up as a slave – but for _Wulf_ to be subjected to that_ swine_ of his family -

Wulf cringed. Odin's narration brought forward a slew of unpleasant memories for him, the ones he didn't like to remember much. He hated red hair and blurry recollections of his... family. And having confirmed that they were still alive... It hurt worse than anything.

"So he has to save their ungrateful arses now, does he?" Askeladd asked scathingly. "The same bastards that send him to those monsters who butchered his back so badly that I barely kept him alive? _Fuck_, no, find some other poor sod for the job. You ain't getting Wulf, no matter what."

* * *

**"_ENOUGH!"_** Odin's voice boomed out, making the incensed duo instinctively drop on their knees. For a time, they forgot they were conversing with a God of all things - and to piss off Odin was, even by Thor's measure – a foolhardy thing to do.

"Forgive us, Lord Odin," Askeladd managed to get out between his gritted teeth. "But I just can't agree with that."

Sighing, Odin scratched his beard. "I understand, Askeladd. However, even I have bound hands in this – not even Gods can escape their Fate. " He muttered out wearily.

"I called you here to see him one last time before I send him back to where he belongs." He rebuked the kneeling duo gruffly. Yet, even if their heads were bowed in respect, Odin had no doubt he was subject of some unrepentant glares – even if indirectly.

* * *

Green eyes stared at Odin emotionlessly. Wulf was happy that his friends were so... understanding, but he was also annoyed that he had to go back. He still didn't know how they died – and he still had to ream out Askeladd for whatever stupidity the stubborn ass had done after Wulf's death.

The sun was warming his face, and small breeze ruffled his cloak. Even if he was armoured, he still felt terribly vulnerable at the thought of returning back to... _them._

He didn't remember future much – it was like some kind of a distant nightmare he would be happy never to relive again.

And... he would miss them. Even that oaf Thorkell. Speaking of Thorkell, that bastard owed him a good old fight because he mocked his swords. _'Just because that ox was swinging around his axes like toothpicks...'._ Wulf growled in his mind.

He touched them on their shoulders. "Will miss you." Wulf's voice was a soft rasp. His throat hurt with emotions.

* * *

Slowly, both Askeladd and Bjorn stood up, turning to Wulf.

"Hell, no. We'll go with you." Askeladd growled out, staring at the slender form of his friend.

Ignoring Odin's spluttering, Bjorn nodded, light brown, almost amber eyes shining with determination. "You're stuck with us, Wulf," He drawled out, a half-smirk on his face.

Facepalming, Odin groaned. "But it's only Wulf – " He tried to reason with the stubborn duo.

"Send us along, " Askeladd began, with a small smile on his face. "Or we'll wreak havoc upon Valhalla until you do."

Dread filled Odin at hearing the H –word.

"Did I hear Havoc?" A silky voice interrupted.

This time, Odin grimaced out for real.

"Loki." He acknowledged the intruder flatly.

* * *

He was answered with a devious chuckle.

Fox-like eyes looked at the one who summoned him. "_Ahhh_... Askeladd, you old dog, " Loki practically sing-songed the man's name. "You caused some_ lovely_ chaos and disorder in your life. Now, what am I hearing, about you wanting to follow some little wolf?"

Askeladd smirked. "Wulf has to return to his time, to fulfil prophecy. I don't intend to sit on my ass here and doing nothing while he has all the fun, so send me with him."

"And me," Interjected Bjorn.

Loki eyed Bjorn speculatively. "Hum... A potential for chaos," he mused to himself softly. He conjured a ball of blue fire, as a mischievous smile grew on his face.

"Odie – "

" – _Don't _call me _Odie!"_ odin barked up, annoyed. Loki mock-pouted. "But it suits you so well, _Odie,_" he whines. "Why don't you send them with little wolf? As much as I would enjoy the chaos those two would wreak upon Valhalla, they would be much more useful in future." Loki hummed a small ditty to himself, red eyes slit in pleasure at the possibilities of mischief.

Odin exhaled a put-upon sigh. "It's not allowed," He patiently explained to the other god.

Loki's eyes opened abruptly. "You misunderstood me," He spoke out, his voice serious, and the three mortals shuddered with the force of his red-eyed glare. "Send them along little wolf... _or I will."_

Odin made a sound that was half whine and half groan. Loki was absolutely serious... and that did not bode well.

* * *

They stood in front of the two gods – Odin with his mighty body, clad in deerskin pants and boots with scruffy cloak and pointy hat – and Loki all red and white, red eyes, hair and beard, with white skin, clothed in red tunic and black pants and boots.

Odin sighed. "I will send you back, " He instructed gruffly. "And you will be the age you died at. "

"And our weapons and clothes?" Askeladd asked curiously.

"Will be with you," Odin glared at Askeladd half-heartedly.

Loki chuckled. "Ah... and my gift for cute little mischief makers," The red-eyed man purred out silkily. He threw two necklaces to Wulf who caught them effortlessly.

"Put them on their necks," Loki commanded.

Wulf blinked. The necklaces looked more like dog tags, but instead of Latin scribes, the runes were inscribed. Nodding sharply, Wulf did just so – The first necklace, he hung around Askeladd's neck, and the other, he put around Bjorn's neck.

"Nobody could see them or get them off," Loki explained briskly. "It has a couple of other surprises, but I trust you will find them on your own... eventually. "

"Thank you, Lord Loki," Wulf spoke out slowly, as he bowed shallowly to the unpredictable deity.

"Psssh." Loki waved him off. "Call me Loki, little wolf," He winked at Wulf, much to the disgruntlement of Askeladd and Bjorn.

"And cause some mischief for me, will you?"

Wulf barked a laugh at the impish request. "Will do." His green eyes sparkled in amusement.

Loki smirked. "See ya around, little wolf." As soon as he spoke those words, Wulf's eyesight darkened and his senses were thrown in vertigo.

Then, they vanished, in brilliant white light.

_You can come to Valhalla in your own time  
Come to Valhalla seek and you will find Valhalla  
Come to Valhalla in your own time  
Come to Valhalla seek and you will find Valhalla_

_

* * *

__**/The End/Owari/**__  
_


	23. More Than A Love

_MORE THAN A LOVE_

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* * *

_

_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own Harry Potter. Nor do I own Naruto. This story is mine, though...

_**Summary:**_ AU: Return to the loved one in the winter... and warm memories. When they loved with a love... that was more than love.

_**Shout Out:**_ Happy Christmas, everybody _/is exhausted/ _This plotbunny hopped around persistently, and I just had to write it out. So... This is my gift to you, hope you enjoy!

_**Warnings:**_ _**AU – verse**_, as usual. This time, it's _**Itachi /Haru (Harry)**_ pairing. It's _**LEMON shota - **_ meaning, it's _**adult male/young boy love**_, with the _**boy being underage**_. Mentions of nudity and consensual sex scene. I'm warning you, and if you still want to read it, go on. Happy reading.

* * *

_"We loved with a love that was more than love." _

_Edgar Allan Poe_

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* * *

_

The night was quiet- well, not quiet per se, but close to it, seeing how the snow was silently .falling on the ground. Anyone with half their brains was holed in their homes, as the outside was cold, and with quickly approaching snowstorm , it was bound to be freezing cold tonight.

The silence was broken by small creaking sounds, as a man was trudging through the snow. He was clothed in a thick black coat, wide hood shading his face. He was carrying a sack on his back, as he quickly and efficiently walked across the snowed-in plains. Why would the man be out so late? Didn't he have a family, or at least a friend to be offered a shelter? The man stopped briefly, as he looked at the horizon._ Hn. It's getting darker,_ he mused silently. A smile appeared on the pale lips, as he thought of his precious boy waiting for him at home, already anticipating the boy's worried fussing over him. a small smirk appeared on the lips as he imagine d the taste of that sweet mouth - like sweetest wild strawberries with a hint of cinnamon and cream.

He loved the boy; of that it was no doubt. Many would thing that their love was an abomination of the real thing, what with the man being 20 years old and his precious angel only eight years - add that to the fact that he was the boy's father – the small saving grace being his adoption of the small boy – but still, their relationship was as unorthodox as one could get.

* * *

Haru bit his lip. The petite boy was worried. His tousan promised him he'd be back by nightfall, but the snow began falling harder, announcing the oncoming snowstorm, and he couldn't help but worry. His tousan was strong, he knew that – and not in the sense _of 'my-father-is-stronger-than-yours,'_ but in '_my-father-is-an- S-ranked-missing-nin'_ sense. He had seen his tousan taken on the bad men easily, even if he had been outnumbered 12 to one , and the opponents were highly skilled ANBU. Yes, his tousan was a killer. Personally, Haru thought his father was a survivor rather than a killer; as he didn't kill for fu of it, he did it to survive. The only valid rule was kill or be killed anyway – and survivors killed. Heck, even he, Haru, the boy as he was, killed people. Still, he worried. Tousan was his precious person, and he'd do anything if that meant to be with him.

To most of people, Haru's tousan seemed scary. His red eyes with blades swirling in them could destroy the strongest of men into snivelling wrecks. His aura was one of danger and death and blood; and yet, he was so gentle with Haru, like a dove. To a casual onlooker, the pair of them would only show a picture of a dark, evil father and his gentle-willed son; even if tousan eyed him evilly, with those scary red eyes, Haru was content, knowing that his tousan would NEVER hurt him.

True, Haru had been scared to death too, at first, those blood red eyes , impassive face, sharp, pointy things he only knew the man could hurt him with them if he chose so... but on some strange twist of fatem the man took kin in, took care of him, protected him and..._ Loved him?_

He still remembered that day...

* * *

_Flashback_

"Ita – tousan! Ita – tousan!" The small, black-haired boy ran to his guardian, his green eyes sparkling with laughter. Black eyes brows quirking slightly, the man looked at his charge impassively, with only a hint of warmth in those cold eyes. The little boy was a balsam for the man 's ravaged soul. True, he was a shinobi first, but that didn't mean he couldn't feel. Since that fateful night, he'd been only half alive a shell of a person without emotions. A murderer. But then, he encountered a small boy, with greenest eyes he had ever seen. They reminded him of precious gems he once saw the Daimyo's wife wearing; she called them emeralds. The boy had been so scared and alone - and before he knew it, he was helping the boy. He couldn't say what made him to help the boy. Was it the boy's starving, enunciated frame? His injuries? His deep green orbs, filled with loneliness and despair? His ethereal beauty – wait, beauty? Since when did he see his son like... _that?_

Belatedly, he felt the slight body collide with his, as Haru embraced him around his waist, snuggling into him. And suddenly, his body was on fire. Wide – eyed, he looked at the child, who was smiling at him - an innocent smile, so trustful and only for him. Haru didn't expect anything from him, didn't judge him - and for that, the ,man would be eternally grateful. Kneeling down, he hugged the child, relishing in the fragile warmth Haru shared with him. Haru laughed a free, cheerful laugh, that got the man's insides tingling. In a sudden bout of possessiveness, the man cupped the back of Haru's head. The child stopped laughing. Large, beautiful green eyes looked into ted ones, confused. "Ita – tousan?" The child inquired softly, blinking at the man's silence. And in the next moment, warm, soft lips covered his rosebud ones, in a fleeting caress, like butterfly's wings.

Haru gasped slightly and his tousan's mouth which was just hovering over his moist ones, returned. But this kiss... was different. He felt his tousan's tongue licking the seam of his lips to open - Haru emitted a taken – aback whimper as the slippery intruder mapped out the warm cavern behind his teeth –

Hesistantly, the child brought his own tongue into the play, arousing the man further. To him, Haru tasted like sunshine, wild strawberries and cinnamon, an innocent and yet heady mix that had him hooked on immediately. Moaning slightly, he embraced the child tighter, not wanting to let him go yet –

To Haru, his tousan tasted like dark, bitter chocolate and mint with a hint of peaches thrown in. Gasping slightly, they separated. Those red eyes looked at him intently, warming his body in a scary, but exciting ways. Haru felt his cheeks flush. The man's eyes were spinning with those blades again, but Haru wasn't scared, even if tousan's look was almost too intense to bear.

"T – Tousan?" He asked hesitantly, confused about the man's behaviour.

"You're mine, Haru. No one else's. Remember that. "

That smooth dark voice wrapped around Haru's mind like a warm blanket, but with a steely undertone in them, that Haru recognized as a... threat? Possessiveness? _Love?_

_End Flashback_

_

* * *

_

That day had marked a beginning of something new. Haru may have been young, but he knew his relationship with his tousan wasn'0t a common one. but how could be something that was so good, so.. _right,_ considered so wrong?

Looking through the window once more, he quickly shook himself out of his thoughts, and went to rekindle the fire. The little hut where they lived hay be small, but it was enough room for the two of them and then some. It was cozy – looking , and giving off a feel of true home. There was one hearth, for warmth and where they cooked their food. On the wooden floor, there were laid some downy soft skins and rugs, and in one of the corners, there was a small, low-legged table with some scrolls neatly stacked on it. The pillows for sitting were a little worn out, but still in a good state, they were stacked against the wall at the moment. On the wall, there were some pictures, drawn with charcoal on cream – colored rice paper and some katanas and various other pointy, and potentially harmful things. Near the heart, there was their little nest, made out of furs, cotton linen and warmth. Haru blushed as he remembered some of their... _adventures _in that warmth.

Speaking of warmth... Haru blinked slowly, yawning cutely. Once more, he looked around the room, checking if everything was in order. That checked he allowed the tiredness sweep him ovr. Within minutes, he was snuggled in a makeshift bed, covered with thick, soft bearskin, drifting off into Morpeus' embrace.

* * *

It was dark, when the door opened, and the man finally came home. The fire was still going strong, he noted, and on the small table, there was food – Haru obviously waited on him, the man smiled at the thought. Laying down his sack, he closed the door and quickly shed the heavy cloak. Next thing that was discarded, were his boots, now, his body and face were finally revealed.

He was tall, but not overly so. His body was slender, and yet muscled as he moved, the watched would be reminded of a great predator – his movements were smooth and swift, almost unnaturally graceful. Dark hair looked silkily smooth as it glinted in the firelight with healthy sheen. His attire was simple – black pants and black turtleneck with a bastardized version of a Jounin armour over it; it was also coloured black.

Removing the armour, he seemed like some sort of a slender shadow. His skin was pale, but not unhealthily so. The face was delicate, yet masculine; if the man had wanted so, he'd be a heartthrob with his dangerous beauty. Dark eyebrows, long, dark laskes and slightly sunken eyes – those eyes, who gave their owner's enemy chilly by looking at them – were now black, like void. This man... was predator.

And yet, those merciless, chillingly black orbs softened as the man looked at the snoozing child. Smiling softly, he quickly sneaked under the covers, careful not toi rouse his precious little one. To him, Haru was beautiful. The boy only mumbled something indecipherable, before snuggling into the solid body lying near his. The man's mout kissed the child's wild hair affectionately, and Haru nuzzled into the dark sweater, inhaling the scents of winter and forest with underlying hint of steel. Green eyes blinked open slowly. "I – Ita – tousan?" the boy yawned out sleepily.

Chuckling slightly, the man tightened his embrace for a moment. "Who else, Haru – koi?" the velvety voice murmured into small, delicate ear. He resisted – he tried to, but Kami, those lips were so perfect – and why not indulge? Small peck on those velvety tempting mouth, and soon, he tasted the child.

Their duel of tongues was lazy, as both were too tired to attempt something more. "Ita – tousan?" the child questioned softly. His guardian smiled at him gently, dark eyes warm. "Sleep, Haru, I'll be there when you wake up." Haru nodded sleepily as he nuzzled back into his favourite pillow, already falling into the comforting darkness.

* * *

Haru was dreaming. This time, as many others before, he had no nightmares. No scary green light – he dreamed about warmth and sun and wind and instead of high – pitched evil cackling that made his ears hurt, he listened to his tousan's voice. Smooth, silky and most of all, safe. Swinging between the dream world and consciousness, he felt something warm nuzzle into his neck, and he smiled at the butterfly kisses trailing from his neck to shoulders teasingly.

Drowsily, he allowed his yukata to be shed, exposing his tender skin to the air. Mewling, he arched into those smooth hands that played wickedly with his young body, as a small bal of intense warmth was beginning to ignite in his belly

Slowly, those hands removed his hakama too, and he arched into that strong, warm body behind him. he shivered as his thighs were caressed with feather-like touches that never strayed to the centre of his need, but teased him, taunted him with their promise...

"Tousan..." He complained breathlessly, his body arching into the caresses, his young voice hitching helplessly. A low chuckle answered him, and then, he was being laid on the downy soft fur, the strong body hovering over him, and his eyes finally opened.

* * *

Green eyes blinked up at him, so trusting and innocent and wanting, that his breath hitched. The boy was exquisite, lair in front of him like some innocent sacrifice to his darkest desires, that smooth, almost glowing skin beckoning him to touch, to taste to possess and to never let him go. Not that he would want to; Haru was his salvation and his sanctuary. No matter how many times he had claimed the child as his own, his desire wasn't diminished, not by the slightest.

Small hands tugged at his sweater hesitantly. "I – Ita – " The child whined, breathless with impatience. The man chuckled slightly, but obeyed the unspoken plea. Black gave the way to milky white, smooth skin that was sculpted with muscles. Green eyes widened with awe. "Tousan..." the child breathed out in wonder. Pale lips quirked in a small smile. He enjoyed the child watching him undress. Only his son, no one else, made him so wanted, so carefree, so strong. The last garment was being tossed away and the man was completely naked. "Wow.." the small exclamation of awe came out of those rosebud pink lips he so longed to claim. "You are so pretty, tousan," Dark, cruel eyes were warm with amusement. "And you are beautiful." The silky murmur tade the child blush. "Ah, Tousan! Don't be mean!" the boy pouted at him. the man chuckled. "But you are, " he teased his little treasure as he moved, and the next thing Haru felt was hot mouth claiming his tender lips.

The kiss was warm and soft, but it quickly escalated to fiery-with-passion variant. The man groaned, as the child timidly embraced him around the neck. His shy little Haru... the child whimpered slightly as his little legs were spread apart, his body trembling with anticipation. Skin against skin... ant there were tousan's fingers, in that dirty little place – Haru still blushed at the mention of it. How could tousan enjoy something so.-. dirty? The boy's head was tossed back as he mewled with the force of pleasure streaking down his spine. And then – and then – tousan put his cock in him, his big,. Strong body shuddering and then, they were racing to the invisible finish line of pleasure and _oh_ –

His little stomach knotted and a fiery ball of ecstasy and agony made him arch sharply against his tousan the man's muscles stiffening, lust a little more, just –

" _ITACHI!" _ - as he exploded with he man's name on his lips.

* * *

Itachi watched the sleeping child with a small smile on his face. The sweat was sticking to his skin uncomfortably, cooling his heated body down some, as he cradled the still-out-of-conscious form of his son to himself gently.

It was already a dawn, although a bleak one, what with all of the now outside. He caressed the sweaty strand of the boy's hair away from the adorable face, running his fingers throught he unruly mane.

Yes, Itachi Uchiha had a fascination with Haru's hair. Haru's hair was thick and soft, like the softest fur, and yet, it was so unruly. It was black – not the pitch black of itachi's own hair, but it had the faintest reddish glimmer if somenone would look correctly. And Itachi had.

But that wasn't the only one thing Itachi adored about Haru.

It was the whole package - the boy's skin, smiles, the colour of his eyes, that beautiful laughter of his, and how he trusted Itachi unconditionally; all those and more were his Haru. Although sometimes, Itachi did wonder whether Haru was really a child. There were moments Haru seemed to be far too old for his age of six years, his eyes far too pained and too wise - and then, the moment would pass, and his Haru would laugh or smile again. But come what may, Itachi swore to himself, he would be here for Haru.

Because Haru was his.

_**/The End/Owari/**_


	24. I Feel You

_**"I Feel You"**_

_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own _**Harry Potter**_ or _**King Arthur**_. Or the song – it belongs to _3 Doors Down_ – _"I Feel You"_

_**Summary:**_ Arthur didn't love Guinevere. He loved his friend. Lancelot wasn't in love with Guinevere. Instead, he loved his friend. This is the true story about the thirteenth knight of the round table.

_**Shout Out:**_ _/Growl/._ History bug bites again. Watching the movie, I couldn't help but take the story and tweak it a little. It always did seem farfetched to me that Arthur was so blind in regards of Guinevere and for Lancelot choosing a ho before a bro, was just a crime. So I compromised and voila, before I even knew it, the story was running away with me.

_**Warnings:**_ I muddled in history-again. Alright, I mucked the things a lot. This is half – history and half – quasi stories the bards were so fond of. As for pairing – this is _**SLASH **_– yup, you know it, and this time, it's _**Arthur (Artorius)/Harry/Lancelot. **_ Oh, and another thing. I primarily used Latin names for the original characters, and I decided to keep Arthur's original version of the name - thus Artorius. It has some movie spoilers, but it's still different enough not to spoil the movie itself – and oh yeah, some character deaths. That will be all, folks... now, enjoy!

By the way, I bashed Guinevere _/cringes/._ Too similar to Ginny, just a little bit cleverer...

Okay, happy reading!

* * *

_And what do I get to get me through these sleepless nights?  
And what do I have to hold when no one's there to hold me tight?  
And what do I see - the only thing that gets me through this is what I feel - and I feel you._

_(by 3 Doors Down –I Feel You)_

_

* * *

_

It was funny in a sense. They were together for fifteen years – fifteen bloody years, filled with pain, blood, cursing and death. Fifteen years, that would soon come to an end.

Lancelot still remembered the day he had to leave his family – his stern father, and his kind mother; he still had the little souvenir the little girl had given him. In fact, the only things he had, when he had left his home were the clothes on him, his steed and his sword.

In his dreams, there still echoed the harsh and often uncultured language of Samartians, his people. The war cry was almost his only constant that accompanied him on the battlefield, an announcement that he was ready, willing and able to gamble his life on the tips of his swords, on his faithful steed and his body to get him through.

In his dreams, he still saw the planes of his beloved country, the light hair of the little girl that smiled at him so trustingly. He had almost forgotten her name – in fact, if someone would have asked him, he wasn't sure if he would remember her name at all... but he remembered her light- coloured hair and warm smile.

He had been through many adventures – some were death defying and hair –raising ones, and others were just plain fun, a folly of his youth. Some of them were of goading Bors to prove his balls – not that anyone doubted he had them, some were of ribbing Gawain on his apparent love of the feathered menace that accompanied him everywhere – truly, they joked that Gawain was married to the bird as it was and even if Gawain had some kind of fun between the sheets, the bird was there.

Dag was not so fun to goad, but he held his ale like not many men could. Artorius was his angsty self, as always. Truthfully, Lancelot sometimes wondered just why they had such a sourpuss for a leader. Artorius was a great leader... yeah. But as a person, he often went somewhere that even Lancelot couldn't follow him. When he had his spells of moping, or as Romans termed it – cramming his skull with philosophy of some kind, Lancelot was completely lost.

And then, there was Harry. From the twelve of the knights, he was the thirteenth one. Lancelot had to close his eyes for a moment. Harry was the glue that held him and Artorius together. True, he may have been Artorius' closest friend and confidant, but Harry was the one that knew him, Lancelot, the best. Lancelot could rave, bitch, moan – not that he was a woman, mind you, but sometimes, venting off to a person was rather therapeutic to do.

The meeting between the three of them was, as was many things in the universe, accidental. Lancelot may have been a good knight and comfortable on the horseback, but he absolutely couldn't stand the voyage via boats. Not that it was anything humiliating – but for those Roman bastards to see him like this... this was mortifying for the young boy. He spent most of the time hurling his guts into the sea, when someone grabbed the scruff of his neck and tugged him back on the board.

The only thing Lancelot managed to discern among all the swimming pictures, were concerned green eyes.

_'Pretty,'_ mumbled his mind – or did he say it aloud? - Before he fell into unconsciousness.

* * *

He woke up sometime later, covered with thick cloak and a bundle of fur under his head.

He heard someone quietly murmuring to the huge gray steed that had attracted his attention when they were boarding the boat. The steed was very temperamental, and nobody wanted to risk ending being trampled under those hooves – but somehow, the steed was coaxed on the boat without much of a fuss. The steed was light grey, and his mane was dark grey. The small form that tended to the stallion was being nuzzled by the said animal, when Lancelot coughed weakly.

The form turned and approached him, much to the ire of the stallion who snorted in disdain and stomped a couple of times against the creaking wood. "Quiet, Regis." The soft voice commanded, making the stallion snort again, but he stopped with the ruckus.

And then, Lancelot saw the shade. The lamp gave off a weak light, but it was enough.

The shade was actually a boy – small, tiny waif with skeletal face and too old eyes. The boy was clothed in clothes that had seen better times and were repaired so many time they were more like some kind of a demented form of a patchwork, crudely sewn together to make a tunic than tunic itself. Lancelot, however, didn't look at the clothes.

He looked straight into those green eyes.

Later on, he found out that his caretaker was called Harry and he was, like Lancelot, headed to the Hadrian's' wall to defend the Roman settlers.

From then on, as they say, it was a history.

* * *

Stormy gray eyes looked at the moon. He was empty. He clutched to himself his father's sword, reliving those terrible moments once again. Tomorrow, he would join the new batch of recruits – rumour had it that the new batch of Samartian knights had arrived yesterday - or at least the recruits that would – or would not – made it through to seize the title.

It had been a rough couple of months, since that terrible raid that took his mother's life. He still had nightmares of not being able to save her – of not being strong enough to get through the fire, to blow the door open and carry her out. He still dreamed about the scent of the burnt meat, that chaos and pain which reigned among the slaves and he still saw those merciless flames mercilessly eating away all they could devour. Instead his mother's lullaby, the last sounds he heard were crude words and cusses of the soldiers, and harsh hand that delivered bruises and occasionally broken bones, was his only caress in those days.

He blinked as he heard a faint sound. And again. It was so fleeting that he thought he dreamed it. The sound tugged him out of his self- imposed funk for enough time for hit to try and search for the elusive melody.

The night was cold and he snuggled deeper into the cloak. Thankfully, winter was over, meaning that they wouldn't have to suffer the freezing temperatures and snow anymore, but they would be plagued with rain, fog and mud nonetheless. A miserable prospect for the aspiring fighters – but when a soldier's life wasn't miserable?

Finally, after some stumbling around, he managed to find the musician. It was a boy, smaller than him, who was playing at the wooden flute. The flute's melody was calm and mournful, reminding him of the serene evenings he had spent with his mother – his father was more often than not, in the company of his knights. Not that he didn't like the knights – quite the opposite – but he sometimes missed his father and wished that he would have spent more time with him instead with his subordinates.

And yet, the melody gave him a type of solace, like cool water in hot summer day. He watched the boy play, noticing the messy dark hair brushing thin shoulders.

The boy paused, and his heart lurched forward. "Don't stop." He spoke, almost against his own will, making the other boy yelp with surprise and fumble for the sword.

He had to bit a chuckle as he watched the musician's clumsy movements. Finally deciding to reveal himself, he stepped out of the shadows. "Don't go, please. Play." He pleaded with the boy.

The boy froze. "You – want me to play?" he asked hesitantly. His speech was a strange mixture of bastardized Latin and Samartian and for a moment, Artorius felt a pang of longing after those kind, happy times that were irreversibly lost to the past.

"Yeah," He said hesitantly. "If – if you want to."

The boy watched him for a moment, and then nodded. "Alright. But I have to go back later. Lancelot wants to show me a new trick with his blades." The boy's soft voice enchanted him somehow and he was jealous of this... Lancelot person. It was so not fair!

They spend an hour, before the boy excused himself and ran into the darkness, making Artorius feel the loneliest he had ever been.

* * *

So imagine his shock the next day when he was grouped along with the curly dark-haired boy who was called Lancelot. At first, the two didn't get along, but when some of bullies thought the duo would be a great target to vent their frustration over with real swords this time, they quickly teamed up. At the end of the scuffle, they were dirty, bloodied and grinning with savage delight while the would – be bullies fled away to lick their wounds somewhere.

After that bonding experience, Lancelot dragged him away to introduce him to Harry.

They had the lesson on horseback riding. Lancelot was chatting away when they were saddling their respective steeds. But there was no head and no tail about Harry. When asked about it, Lancelot had shrugged and said that Harry probably had to mind Regis – much to Artorius' confusion. Lancelot explained that Harry acted as the minder of the beast of their commander.

They heard the ruckus at the stable, and lo and behold, their commander was riding the biggest stallion Artorius had ever seen, to the front of the cadets. The beast was indeed huge, light gray with dark gray, almost black mane. However, it seemed that the stallion wasn't happy with the man on his back. The commander reined him in with difficulty, but because the stallion was restless, the commander had enough of the beast and kicked it into the sides harshly.

Artorius watched with wide eyes, as the stallion froze for a moment, before he whistled with fury and then he bucked under the man, strong muscles bunching and relaxing in waves that came and went almost too fast to properly discern them. The horse propelled itself on his hind legs, dark eyes wild with fury as the men around tried to calm the beast down.

"I swear, this beast has to be Hades' spawn," one of the nearby soldiers grunted out as he idly watched the fight between the man and beast... which the beast was obviously winning. "But noo, Ranulfus just _HAD_ to ride the damned thing," He groused, lone eye screwed shut with aggravation. Lancelot snickered at Artorius' bewildered face. "Uh, what?" Artorius asked dumbly.

The soldier looked at Artorius. "Oh, you don't know. Long story short, this devil horse here only allows that kid to take care of him, and everyone else is else bitten or kicked the hell out of." The man sighed. "Before the kid came, this hell spawn of a horse was a nightmare to deal with... we always diced for who will take care of the beast for the evening and even if it had been fun, all of us were relieved when the brat took over its care. However, Ranulfus still claims that the horse is his and therefore he rides it... much to the horse's apparent disapproval," He ended with amused smirk on his face.

"Now, watch the fun, boy." He instructed to wide eyed Artorius. Then, he turned into the stable's way and roared. "BRAT! Come out and get that hell spawn of yours calm already!"

A faint "Coming!" was yelled back, before there was a short whinny and Artorius saw a small form riding the dark brown's horse's back. The kid steered the horse only with his body, as the beast had nothing on – no bridle, no saddle and yet, it obeyed the boy's commands as if it had its leashes on.

As soon as the grey horse got the whiff of the newcomers, it turned violently on its front legs, successfully dislodging its rider into the nearest puddle of mud and in the next moment, he turned around to attack the dark brown horse and it's rider, neighing with fury.

The dark brown horse stopped as if nailed into the ground, while it's rider jumped down and ran in front of the infuriated beast. "Regis! _STOP!_" The boy shouted, as if he wasn't afraid that the huge gray stallion could –and would trample him the very next moment.

The stallion's gray body froze in the mid of the lounge. Those hard hooves stepped down on the ground just a few inches away from the boy's head. The stallion made a growling sound towards the dark brown horse who skittered away from the duo, while the gray horse nuzzled the boy's black messy hair, tugging on the strands painfully, making the boy yelp with pain. "Ow! Okay, okay, you big baby..." The boy complained, grinning fondly at the beast, while he got the bridle off the horse's head. "Happy now?" The horse chuffed as it nuzzled his shoulder.

Artorius stared. This boy was the same who played the flute last night! He felt Lancelot nudge his ribs. "That's Harry. He's my friend and official caretaker of the gray terror here, Regis."

The boy took the saddle off the horse by now, much to the confusion of the recruits.

"Give it up. Ranulfus," One of the seasoned soldiers called out to the seething commander. "The beast obviously likes the brat better than you, so you will just have to swap yer horses." "Shut up, wiseass," The commander barked back, his cheeks red with embarrassment. "I will get the bastard, even if it's the last thing I do." The soldiers chuckled at his petulant tone. " 'Tis not good, commander," The soldier that spoke with Artorius before called out. "If you wanna explain to Rome just why they have to supply so many horses to that miserable isle, you're welcome to do so." "You too, Aegidius?" The commander growled back. "Yup." The soldier, now known as Aegidius nodded back, idly scratching his three day beard.

A tense silence reigned. "You owe me, you one-eyed bastard," the commander finally growled out. Aegidius snorted. "I know, I know," he said with a mock – suffering sigh.

The lesson in horseback riding was interesting, to say the least. Regis didn't suffer any horse in his perimeter and Harry rode the beast without saddle or the bridle. It was a funny sight at first – a tiny boy on the back of the huge stallion, but the pair was so tuned into each other that they seemed to be one person.

And Artorius finally knew the name of his new friend.

* * *

Through the years, the three of them – Lancelot, Harry and Artorius – became thick as thieves. Regis was as irritable as ever, but he finally accepted saddle and the bridle although he still liked to terrorise other horses under his hooves.

Their beginning class of 25 people had been whittled through the skirmishes to whole thirteen, and later on, nine people. Nine knights that would be soon going wherever their fancy would take them. Except for Bors, none of them had created a family in this cold and dark land. Some of them, like Lancelot, wanted to go back to the wide planes where their family awaited them, and some, like Artorius and Harry, intended to go to Rome, to see the city for themselves.

But it wasn't so simple.

Those Roman bastards just had to drop on the one last mission that likened to suicide. Hell, you had more chances to commit a suicide and survive than go to the north wall and rescue the settlers without a scratch or unavoidable skirmish with either Saxons or Woads.

The night before they were to take off to do the insane task the Romans simply deemed as a mission, there was a tension between the trio.

Lancelot was pissed at Artorius for his kissing up to the bastard bishop. Even Artorius admitted that this particular mission was bound to be no good but the stubborn horse ass had to take the thing as a matter of honour. And the knights knew Artorius – if there was an honour involved in, Artorius would break no quarter.

They had been together through many insane happenings, but this time, Lancelot honestly felt that Artorius sense of honour would kill them. But because Harry trusted Artorius... Lancelot groaned, face-palming. He didn't have any other choice than to follow the two fools and guard their backs.

Harry... He sighed, looking at the rumpled sheets on Harry's little cot. Undoubtedly, Harry was, once again, with Regis. He always did that, when he was upset about something. Lancelot dearly wanted to go after Harry, but something held him back.

It would be too dangerous. It would be easier to find some wench and fuck her through the thin mattress – heavens knew he needed relief, because come morning, he would have none.

And yet, he couldn't bring himself to stand up and head out. Instead, he curled into his cloak and gingerly moved to Harry's cot. Pressing his face down, he inhaled the scent that was a mixture of horse, hay, blood and something that was Harry. This scent was as familiar to him as his own. This scent, he associated with his home. And yet, it was tantamount to torture he didn't have the real thing against his body. Closing his eyes, he grabbed a fistful of a fabric and sighed into it. The sheets were cold – Lancelot didn't expect anything else, but he could imagine that they were still warm from Harry's body. It was his secret vice, snuggling into the still-warm sheets when Harry rose up to take care of Regis. Lancelot's most cherished memory was of that time when they were lost in the winter and they had to hole up to wait out the blizzard. Harry's body against his was a precious memory that heated his body and made his heart beat faster. Despite of all the bragging and teasing he had done, Lancelot knew the bitter truth...

He was in love with Harry.

* * *

Artorius closed his eyes. His heart was heavy with dread and guilt. Even if he said to Lancelot that they would get out of the last mission without trouble, that he had faith in their abilities, he knew he had spouted bullshit. With Woads on the move, Saxons pillaging the villages, even Artorius seriously doubted that something wouldn't go wrong sooner than later. The weight of leadership weighted him down now more than ever – it hurt that Lancelot disagreed with him, but he understood his friend. Harry didn't say anything, but Artorius knew. Harry didn't approve of the Roman's latest harebrained scheme, but he knew they had to comply if they wanted to get the passes through the Roman Empire. Nobody relished being hunted more than strictly necessary, thank you very much – fifteen years of that particular hide-and-seek were more than enough.

And yet, he was concerned. For Bors – how would he tell Vanora that her lover had died in one unnecessary skirmish? Not that Bors would, he was too strong for that, but shit happens. And the latest mission just reeked of shit. Lancelot was close to his heart and he would loathe to lose him to the stray arrow or sword. Then Tristan, Gawain, Galahad, Dagonet... and Harry. Seven knights- seven of the twenty-five that began training and of the thirteen that managed to survive through fifteen long years, filled with bloodshed and death. He was scared to lose them – even knowing that they were superior in handling their weapons - no, that wasn't right.

He was afraid of losing Harry.

Through those years, he became close with Lancelot – hell, Lancelot became his best friend and closest confidant, but Harry was –Harry was something more. He didn't dare to admit it to himself – not even in the darkest of nights. Not even when he was alone with himself, did he dare to think about the shameful secret he was carrying in the deepest piece of his heart. Their separation would come soon enough – one more mission, and then, the eight of them would go wherever the wind would will them to. Some would try to find their family, like Lancelot. Bors was trying to get out with dying on the battlefield... unsuccessfully. Apparently, causing bloodshed was much more interesting than dying on the enemy's weapon. Artorius himself didn't know. He was on soon to be no man's land – even if he had been born on the dreary isle, he didn't belong to it. He was a Halfling – half Breton and half – Roman yet, that didn't help him about determining where he would settle down. He had thought to go in Rome after this mess would be done and gone over with but -

Each hour, each moment brought him closer to the separation from them. Each minute that slid through his hands was one that tore at his heart little bit more than previous one had.

Closing his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose in frustration, he sat on his bed. His room was one that reminded him of his Roman heritage the most – the philosophy, those high ideals – but that didn't help him one whit with the dilemma he was facing now.

Artorius groaned. It would be a long, long night before he would fell asleep – if at all.

Somewhere under the tree, a mournful melody was heard to be carried away by the wind.

None of the three friends slept much that night.

* * *

They were on their way for three days now. The weather was miserable – rain, cold fog and they were actually wondering if that last mission was cursed somewhat. Yes, the weather in Britannia wasn't worth a dime, but this now was just over the top.

They huddled together against the fire – luckily they found a cave in which they would weather the night out. They were cold, wet and miserable. Bors was quietly cursing the Romans, Gawain was tending to his falcon and Dagonet was checking his weapons. Lancelot was cleaning his swords while Harry was staring into the fire. Artorius tended to his horse and expertly dodging Regis' teeth.

Harry's horse was still bad-tempered as usual, but tonight, not even the usual antics could cheer them up.

Dark eyes looked at the gathered knights, before the shadow vanished into the night.

* * *

Harry closed his eyes. Even if he had seen death, that didn't made him any more resistant to its' effects. One was, killing an enemy on the battlefield. Heck, even killing an animal for food was acceptable. But... outright torture...Those Romans were depraved. And they even dared squawk ing about their holiness and Christian values! At least they rescued a boy and the girl – the girl was giving Harry bad premonition for some reason. Harry closed his eyes. It was hard to know about..._ that_. Nobody knew – Harry didn't tell anyone, but he seemed to know which one would die next. It was, as if he could see the cloak of death around their bodies.

Sometimes, he managed to avert the impending death. Like that time with Ector. But he could only avert if for a time, and not forever – Ector was the last one to fall, weakening their little group from ten to nine. And yet, the shadows were gathering again, and Harry had to gulp. This new girl – dark – haired and dark eyes, skinny with blue tint to her face – didn't bring nothing but misery.

She had sharp tongue, wounding Artorius and causing him to doubt his convictions. She managed to part Lancelot from Artorius – not that it had been hard to do, only strumming on Artorius' delicate sensibilities about belonging about duty and all that rot...

The battle was coming, and Harry was restless. Who – who would fall because of that blue-skinned witch? Who would leave them and step into the cold halls that nobody had returned from yet?

Snarling, he opened his eyes and jumped on his feet. "Harry? Where are you going?" Gareth asked him, concerned. "Out." Harry barked back. He stomped to his stallion and jumping onto the beast, not bothering about saddling or bridling it. The knights watched him disappear into the forest with wide eyes, while the settles were shuffling around their little fires uncomfortably.

Wide dark eyes looked at the frowning knight. "Lancelot?" She inquired softly. The knight looked at the witch they had rescued. "Something is bothering him..." He stated, dark eyes narrowing. Lately, Harry had became increasingly restless, but to go into the woods like that –

Something had to upset him to a great degree.

* * *

Gray eyes lurked at the forest with concern. It would be dark soon, and Harry was still not back yet. Artorius exhaled a breath sharply, intending to reprimand the green – eyed knight sharply upon his return. He was not comfortable with Harry vanishing into the woods like this – even if he knew that Harry could take care of himself. At least Harry had taken Regis along – the huge mount would allow no one and nothing to harm his beloved master. Palming the hilt of his sword, he returned back to the thoughts about Merlin's proposal.

Sighing, he resigned to spending one more restless night watching over the camp.

* * *

The return into the citadel was without a cheer. While settlers were relieved that they were safe from the barbarians, the knights had mourned the loss of Dagonet. And adding the salt to the fresh wound, the arrogant bishop had the nerve to praise them, as if they were little puppies, for _a job well done!_ The_ nerve_ of the idiot!

Harry had taken it the hardest and not even Lancelot could cheer up his friend. Lancelot himself had felt guilty about not being with Harry and choosing the company of the Woad girl, Guinevere, over his old friend's but he feared what would be if he would be alone with him. Those green eyes were just too dangerous to look into them for a long time. Guinevere was flattered that he had both Artorius and Lancelot on a proverbial leash – even if she was confused about their glances toward Harry's sulking form – but she chalked them up to the concern about their good friend.

Artorius was sitting on his bed, when she came. She was ethereal, all dark, glittering eyes, smooth skin that shone like milk in the moonlight and long hair.

He didn't want to think. He had decided. Harry wasn't here, he had gone away with Lancelot, and he, Artorius, would tomorrow be the lone protector of the Britannia. Even if he spouted all that bullshit about finding the meaning of his life – it still hurt that they left him.

That Harry left him.

His last war cry wasn't so much of a challenge to the Saxons, but more like a lone cry to the one that was riding away from him, to call him back, to have him beside himself.

And yet, Harry only returned the call and rode onward, with Lancelot.

Artorius couldn't fault them. The last mission was shit, and he wouldn't want his friend to die in the following struggle. However, one last part of his heart foolishly hoped that they would stay.

That he would stay.

His hear was hurting. His head was buzzing with strategies, what-ifs and him. He just wanted to forget those fifteen years somehow or at least forget the heartache that festered in that time.

He had missed on it; big time, and now, he would have to pay.

His bed sheets were cold. His body was, despite feeling hot, feeling curiously numb.

He wanted to forget.

And so, when she came, when he looked in her glittering eyes. "We don't know what tomorrow will bring. We have only tonight." The girl murmured at his face, her breath sweet and moist and warm on his skin.

And Artorius gave in.

* * *

It was bound to be a mess. They knew that not everyone would come out alive but still, they hoped-

When they joined with Artorius, again, they were grinning wildly, feeling so strong as if they could take over and conquer a world. They were to be together, in good and bad, and it was so good to be among those who you trusted with your back, to hear a familiar banter and shouts and dodging grumpy Regis' hooves and teeth.

They were wild, savage bunch that cursed, yelled, hollered and the nine of them would crush those Saxon fuckers ten feet under.

Lancelot smiled at the bloodthirsty smirk on Harry's face. Right now, Harry was happier than he had seen him in a long time an along with him, Lancelot also felt happier. But that was noting in comparison with Artorius' glowing face as he embraced the slight green-eyed man, much to Harry's sputtering and others' good natured ribbing and teasing.

They – the nine of them – were meant to be, either in life or in death. Why squabble with gods over that?

* * *

The Saxon warriors had gotten a chill when they saw one fully – armoured silhouette of a man and horse on the hill. Now, their blood positively froze at the sight of the nine warriors on their equestrian companions, all looking like nine unforgiving shades of death.

Cerdic may have been a chieftain, but even he couldn't help feeling a hint of dismay at seeing nine banners swishing in the wind. And yet, his bloodthirsty nature felt a savage glee at the thought of such a worthy opponent being crushed under his army.

The battle was bloody, underhanded and all around brutal. Guinevere screeched like fury from hell as she engaged in a fight with a blond- haired Saxon. Only, the fight didn't roll quite as she wished.

The man was too strong, too quick –

And it was only a luck that Lancelot distracted the man long enough that she could back away and reach for her trusty knives.

Harry was fighting like someone possessed with demons. The time was running out, and with so much death shades around –

He barely prevented one of the Saxons to kill Tristan, even if that left him weapon less.

But then, he got that chill up his spine.

Quickly, he turned around, and saw Lancelot getting up from the ground, still dizzy from the hits he had received, and the blonde Saxon –

_NO!_

_

* * *

_

The next few seconds passed as if in a slow movement.

The Saxon soldier snarled as he raised the knife and in that moment, Harry knew the intent. He roughly kicked Rufus into his sides, making the horse neigh angrily, but still the stallion complied and jumped toward the Saxon. In the last moment, Harry jumped off the horse and crushed Lancelot under his body. Almost half a moment later, he felt something cold slice his that and the last feeling he had before he fell into the darkness was something war gushing out of the wound.

For a moment, Lancelot was stunned, but when the gravity of the situation seeped into his brain, he roared with pain.

_"HARRY!"_

His howl attracted Artorius' attention almost immediately. For Lancelot to shout out with such a grief, there had to be only one reason.

Gray eyes widened as he saw – of only briefly – Lancelot cradling Harry in his arms, his chest and face coated with the warm red liquid.

Roaring with anger, he attacked Cerdic again – even if he was dizzy and Cerdic was stronger than him by far – in that moment, he got strength that pile-drived the stunned Saxon chieftain onto his knees. Cerdic screamed as his arms were broken with the flat side of the sword – and he howled as his collarbone was shattered. His last sight was of incensed stormy gray eyes, before he was sent to hell.

Growling, Lancelot grabbed the knife that ended Harry's life, still slick and warm with blood and with practised ease, he hurled it back to its sender. His aim was true – the Saxon soldier was dead on the spot. Then, he gently laid the corpse on the ground, grabbed his two swords and marched into the battle once more.

She stood at the side, horrified. The two men were fighting like demons. If they were good before, now, they were nigh invincible. She flinched as one of the Saxons roared at her, intending to slice her head off -

But his intentions were brutally halted as a huge gray stallion brutally crushed his skull via the hooves.

She had to fight back a bile as she watched the horse standing over its fallen master-and anyone who dared to come near, be it Saxon or Brit, they well under the deadly hooves or they had the parts of their bodies torn off by the sharp teeth. Soon, the place around him was empty as no one wanted to dare their luck long enough to kill the crazed beast.

Gulping, she inched away, only to yelp as she was pushed into the ring the horse made. Surprisingly enough, the horse tolerated her – but when she intended to crawl closer to Harry's corpse, the stallion whistled sharply and shown her his blood – coated teeth.

Flinching, she nodded. The message was clear enough.

* * *

The battle was won. The Saxon army – or the remains of it-fled away. Artorius' wrath made a deep impression, but the price they had paid for the victory was steep.

Artorius came to the place where Harry fell slowly. He still couldn't believe –

He was dirty, bloodied and sweaty, with numerous little aches rattling his body, but his heart was breaking.

Regis was growling mournfully in his chest – almost whining as he nudged Harry's cold body once again. The stallion's legs were red with blood up to his knees, and some of the blood was on his stomach, with some of the drops dripping from the dark gray tail. His muzzle was crimson too – somehow, he managed to free himself of the bridle and saddle and he was standing over Harry like the proud, vengeful force of nature that was now mourning the passing of his bipedal friend.

Lancelot was in a similar state. His face was red with blood and sweat, along with the front of his armor. He still clenched his two swords in his hands, but his eyes were dark with despair.

"Harry...Harry is dead?" Bors asked quetly. His voice was gravelly with disbelief.

Galahad nodded slowly.

Artorius crashed on his knees beside the Harry's body. Gently, he took it in his arms, as if afraid he would shatter it. He looked at the closed eyes and the deep, gaping wound on Harry's neck.

The bitter feeling rose up in his chest.

"It was _my _life to be taken! " He howled against the sky. "Not his._ Never his!"_

The other knights approached their leader slowly.

"It was my fault," Lancelot grated out hollowly. "If I hadn't protected – "

Arthur looked at dark brown eyes of his tormented friend. "You – "He coughed out before he continued. "You couldn't have known."

Lancelot knelt in front of him. "How would _you _know?" He asked harshly.

"If anyone's, the fault is mine," Tristan interrupted him. "Harry had saved my sorry hide with his knife, leaving him weapon less. So if you want to blame anyone... Blame me."

A dark silence reigned over them.

Shakily, Artorius sighed. "My brave knights...I – I have failed you. I neither took you off this island, nor shared your fate."

At this, Gawain gave a weak snort. "No fate is shared. If anything, we decided it ourselves." He shuffled on his feet uncomfortably.

Bors nodded. "As we did all." He rumbled out solemnly.

The wind blew gently over the battlefield, carrying away the stench of blood and burnt bodies and bringing the sharp scent of winter.

* * *

She watched the funeral quietly, her young face solemn. Both Artorius and Lancelot were moving slowly, as if they had been aged for half a century, while in reality, there was only a weight of grief on their shoulders.

She hung her head. It was her pride and foolishness that caused the two warriors to lose their best friend. She thought she could take on that Saxon, but she was outsmarted and outpaced. If it hadn't been for Harry, Lancelot would be the one who would have been killed. In fact, Lancelot looked as if he rather would be killed than witness the funeral of his friend.

The pyre was lit, and the fire was devouring Harry's body greedily. Regis disappeared to who knew where and they didn't bother to search for him. From what she understood, Regis had obeyed only Harry and it would be a shame for such a stallion to be put down just because they couldn't have tame him properly.

Three months later Artorius was crowned as a king of Britain. Also, he wed Guinevere who was expecting a child from that single night they had spent together.

* * *

_Not much is known about their lives afterward. Knights still presided over the round table, and the gaps were filled with young men who were descendants of the first knights. They knew their code and they took care of their families and their estates. _

_Artorius had died in one of the wars with the Saxons. He was heavily wounded, but he managed to kill his attacker. They managed to transport him to the citadel, but after five days, he died, but not before entrusting Lancelot with taking care of the land and its' people. _

_After his death, Lancelot became the leader. He reigned along the Guinevere, although they never married. Their reign was prosperous for the people, although Lancelot had to defend the lands form the Saxon invaders almost constantly. Against all expectations, Lancelot had died of old age under the shade of the tree that was Harry's favourite place. His servants found him in the morning, looking as if he were sleeping, with a gentle smile on his face._

_The true story of the knights and their leader was later on embellished with chivalry and other useless ideals. They shown Artorius as a weak king that was constantly under female half of the court, Lancelot as a dashing prince who had a secret - or better, bit so secret fling with the Guinevere, and Guinevere was sung about as a fair – haired beauty that enchanted many a men, although her hair was dark and she was, to speak the truth, a tomboy. _

_History had told many stories about the thirteenth knight, but myths and legends forgot him. Nobody knows if it was for better or for worse, that the story of thirteenth knight was never encountered in the annals of singers and poets. _

_It's probably better that it wasn't. Most of the time, humans don't accept the truth. And the truth, particularly that one, wouldn't have been accepted kindly._

_That the two men loved their friend and it was too late for them to be together – too late for anything to be done, too late to reverse the sacrifices..._

_However, time moved onward. People came and went, they were born, and they lived and died._

_And it was time for the three friends to be, once again, together._

**_/To Be Continued/_**


	25. Ouroboros Rising

_OUROBOROS RISING_

* * *

_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own Harry Potter or Naruto, just this story.

_**Summary:**_ By some kind of sheer dumb coincidence, the Sorting Hat discovers something much, much more terrifying than fragment of Voldemort's soul while Sorting one Harry James Potter.

_**Shout Out:**_ Well, yes, another oneshot. It tickled in my brain, so I just had to get it out. This is only a part, which I hope I will someday write out in a whole story. Basically, Orochimaru was destroyed by Naruto's Sage chakra, but by some kind of a sheer dumb luck, he survived and was transported in Harry's universe. And it's just Harry's luck that Orochimaru wants to 'hike a ride' in his body!

_**Warnings**_: Disturbing imagery, hints of _**SLASH,**_ this time _**Orochimaru/Harry –**_ yes, yes, I know, I am off my rocker, and torturing of certain Sorting Hat, named Rupert.

* * *

_Men are not prisoners of fate, but prisoners of their own minds. _

_~Franklin D. Roosevelt_

* * *

Mind is the last known territory yet not explored and discussed by scientists. All of them agree that mind is a complex matter – even more complex as the most advanced computers. Even id mind doesn't have the speed and precision with which to calculate impossible odds at the drop of hat – excuse the pun - somehow, a human's mind can calculate the probabilities, outcomes and failures' rates by some kind of different means that computers would.

When someone is in a grave danger and later on, when he rescues himself out of the danger, people ask him how he had done that – but he would helplessly shrug and answer_. "I don't know. I just did it."_ He didn't need to be a renowned mathematician or physician or anything to save himself, because sheer need for survival kicked his mind in higher gear in attempt to get him out of the situation alive.

Some say it is a case of sheer dumb luck. Maybe they are right. But those disbelievers forget the power of the mind. One mind can change the whole flow of fate, leading it down the drain, and coming up with an unexpected solution.

Two minds...What would be the repercussions of having two minds together – at all times, day and night, all year around?

Normal people often disregard mind, except when it came to scholastic and occult needs. But we won't be nitpicking about normal people. No, in fact, we will be nitpicking at abnormal, people, who call themselves witches and wizards.

You see, mind is a complicated, even more so with those... abnormal people. If normal human's mind is an equivalent of a hand grenade – figuratively speaking, of course,- a wizard's mind is an equivalent of an atomic bomb. Normal human's mind - or, as the wizards are so fond of saying, a muggle's mind is not dangerous. Well, there were mass-murderers, insane scientists, crazy leaders, but we digress. However, if we apply those traits on a wizard – a disaster is almost guaranteed to happen. You see, when wizards are young, or in extreme state of distress, their innate magic reacts – and depending on the amount of the magic they have, those disasters can be amusing or extremely disastrous. So much about safety in the wizarding world, no?

Back to the exploration of the mind. Even if we mentioned that nobody could truly scope out the workings of a mind, something came close to it.

And that something... was a hat. A Sorting Hat, to be precise.

Sorting Hat, or shortly, Hat – or Rupert, if you asked him for a name – had, in his long life, sorted many minds – dull, bright, observant, obsessive, naive – you name it, he had seen, and Sorted – 'em all.

There wasn't many things that could surprise the old boy nowadays.

However, this year, he was in for a very rude surprise.

* * *

When the witch – McGonagall, was it? - called out '_Potter, Harry', _the Sorting Hat was intrigued. Well, it wasn't any day he would Sort the Saviour of the wizarding world, no? And even he was curious just how the mind of this particular boy worked. His parents were bright ones – Lily should have been Sorted into Ravenclaw, even if he briefly contemplated putting her in Hufflepuff, just for the heck of it. But the clever girl managed to con him into Sorting her into Gryffindor. Rupert was satisfied with his choice for her, although he later regretted it, if only because of a lonely little boy, named Severus Snape. Ah, that one was a Slytherin as far as one could go, even if he should have been Sorted either in Gryffindor or Ravenclaw. Honestly, the boy had such a potential...

And of course, James Potter. The boy was mischievous prankster menace, devoted to his friends, and courageous to a fault, even if he wasn't one for studying very much. His sheer brilliance in Transfiguration would have lauded him as a next Transfiguration Master after Minerva McGonagall, but alas, it wasn't fated to be. Though, the boy also had mean streak a mile wide, and for that, Rupert briefly contemplated about Sorting the boy into Slytherin, but that would mean making waves and it was better to have boy Sorted on safe side rather than not.

And now, one Harry James Potter would be a treat. An offspring of such brilliant people... Rupert was honestly curious just which traits the boy inherited from his parents.

Would he be a Gryffindor, brining with courage and justice?

Would he be a Hufflepuff, loyal to the end and hardworking?

Would he be a Ravenclaw, studious, pursuing the knowledge for knowledge's sake and chasing the ideals?

Or would he be a Slytherin, cunning, ambitious little snake that would gain and hoard his precious things and people close, ready at the moment's notice to turn on the ally if needed be?

As soon as he was put on the boy's head, Rupert delved onto the boy's mind. The sensation was like someone would twist him around, before suddenly straightening him out. It was disconcerting, but he was used to it... Mostly.

He didn't have any shape – if he had to describe himself, he was like a cloth. You put the cloth on an invisible thing and person, and then, you can see the lines of the covered item or person. It was a very rudimentary technique, but it was still better than those muggle tests.

Rupert frowned. This boy was an enigma. He could enter his mind easily, but what he found here, it sincerely baffled and disturbed him. Instead of vibrant colours, there was gray, white and black. Usually, the colours would have been vibrant, in the shades of rainbow, with dominant blue, green, yellow or red colours. Rupert Sorted the kids by discerning the amount of colours in those mindscapes. Those with mostly red colours were Gryffindors. Blue were Ravenclaws. Yellow were Hufflepuffs, and green stood for Slytherins.

But this kid... Rupert frowned. It was, as if the kid was colour blind. Everywhere he turned, there were grey, white and black. It was as if someone had wiped out his personality and replaced it with some kind of a blank slate.

This boded investigation.

Rupert allowed himself to dissimulate into the boy's mind-scape, gently nudging and tugging, coaxing the colour to change, and in process, viewing the boy's memories.

'_Hmmm...'_ Rupert blinked. Well, the boy was clearly a Hufflepuff for his hardworking ways, but he was quite a sponge for knowledge. Rowena would have been delighted to teach him, there was no doubt.

He wandered further into the mind, just to be sure, or better, for the heck of it – Harry's mind was curiously shaped and he wondered just what had changed the boy to such a degree –

- When suddenly, his mental fingers were clutched in a vice – like grip of steel, making him yelp with pain.

"Well, well, well... what do we have there?" A silky voice purred into his 'mind', making the Hat stiffen with dread.

"W – Who are you?" the Hat asked, trying to turn around. The presence chuckled, making Rupert shiver at the sound of the malevolent voice.

"No one. The true question in... what are _**YOU**_ doing in my container's mind?"

If hats could pale, this one would have. The man's - he had to be a man – sheer brilliance and the atrocities he had done were on par – no, thy surpassed Riddle's by far. This – this man, being, whatever - could make Salazar outright _bawl_ with jealously at his cunning, and Rowena would have worshipped him for his knowledge. However, Gryffindor would have opposed to his less than honest dealings with fellow humans, and Helga, while she would have admired his hard work, she would have shunned his disloyalty to his friends.

"Who are you? What are you?" the Hat asked shakily once again, appalled at the ... monster.

Briefly, he saw yellow eyes. The shade made a humming sound. "I believe I asked first... " The man said silkily. "Why do you need to dig where you are clearly unwanted, you Yamanaka reject?"

The Hat made a pained sound as the shade squeezed him harder. "I – I have to Sort the boy!" He wheezed out, shaking in the shade's grip.

"Sort?" The shade asked mildly. "So you traipse around my container's mind, feeding your curiosity only to bellow out to which House he belongs?" Saying that, he poked the Hat sharply, making it wince.

"It – it's a_ tradition_!" The Hat – Rupert – quickly defended. "I was made for that purpose so – "

"_Hmm-mm."_ The shade agreed noncommittally. "And for what purpose? What are the benefits of that ridiculous ceremony?"

The Hat tried to jerk out of the shade's grasp. "It's for kids! So that they would reach their maximum potential – "

The shade yanked a part of him. "_Hoo?_ So brave have to be suicidal, loyal ones will be fanatic, those who search for knowledge will be delusional, and - well, the only ones who are marginally normal, would be cunning ones. " He commented flippantly. "Tell me, Hat, what do you intend to do with memories you have seen?"

Rupert blinked. "Well, yes – " He began hesitantly.

"Have you reached your decision?" A new voice entered the conversation. This voice was young, but scratchy, as if it's owner rarely used it. "They are becoming restless, Sir."

"Not until he tells us what he intends to do with memories he had seen." The shade volleyed back flippantly.

"Harry?" Rupert asked quietly. "Where have you been? Where are you?" He tried to look around for the origin of that young voice, but with no avail.

He screamed at the white – hot pain the shade inflicted on him. "You have no right to ask him that," The shade told him with cold voice. "You are trespasser here. Now, answer!"

"N – N – _Nothing!"_ The Hat squeaked out."The – F – Founders enchanted me with secrecy charms!"

There was a tense pause, when he was quivering in the shade's grasp, attempting to nurse the damaged parts. The pain was like nothing he had ever felt but then, he was only dealing with minds of children, and those were relatively unprotected.

But this... Harry Potter... His defences were unique.

"I believe he is speaking the truth, Master," The boy's monotone voice spoke out again, making the Hat simultaneously perk up in hope and recoil in horror.

_This – this thing was Harry's Master - !_

No. It couldn't be.

No, no, no, no.

The Hat shuddered at the implications.

"Very well..." The shade spoke up again. "However, if you tell anyone of what happened here..." Yellow eyes glinted, and the Hat froze like a rabbit caught in Lumos.

The pressure was incredibly heavy, like an oily sludge that paralyzed him.

"I – I won't!" He managed to choke out. "I – I swear!"

The shade hummed. "Then Sort us."

Rupert the Hat gulped at the order.

He sighed, resigned. "Before I Sort you two, I would like to... know something," He addressed the shade bravely.

"Kukuku... You are very brave, to demand something like that of me..." The shade voiced a creepy chuckle.

"So... Ask away."

The Hat paused. "You...What is your name?"

There was a pause.

The shade sneered. "Very well...My name is Orochimaru. Now begone out of our mind!"

With that, the Hat was unceremoniously pushed back into bland landscape.

Rupert sighed. To Sort the boy, who was, in some aspects, practically _tabula rasa_ and... This monster... He gulped.

Gryffindors would be _slaughtered._

Slytherins... let's not even get there.

Hufflepuffs... No. Just_... No. _

Dread settled in Rupert's nonexistent stomach. When he concluded what he was about to declare.

Choosing the lesser evil – or was it the greater one in the long run? – Never felt such dismaying of an experience.

'_Creators, forgive me for what I am about to do...'_ He thought to himself silently.

And then, the flap opened.

"_**RAVENCLAW!"**_

The last he heard before he was lifted off of the boy's head was "Excellent." The man purred out, chuckling with delight.

The Hall was stumped for a moment, before Ravenclaw table erupted in excited cheers.

The Hat could only watch the small, slender boy sit among his new housemates and praying that someone – or something – would keep the little fledglings safe from the snake in their midst.

_**/To Be Continued./**_


	26. I'm No Angel

_I'M NO ANGEL_

* * *

_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own _Harry Potter , Gravitation_ or the song I'm No Angel. By the way, if yoiu want to listen to it, go to Youtube. This is Dido version of the song. And yes, I own thil lil' bit story.

_**Summary:**_ Both of them are troublesome, and with a plethora of secrets. Harry is hiding from his fame, and Shuichi is trying to lick his own wounds from his separation with Yuki. Perfect? Hardly. Things are bound to explode, what with the little brat primadonna trying to be a top dog. Someone is bound to be hurt...

_**Shout Out:**_ Well, yes, that is a surprise fo me too, but listening to the song can do strange things to my brain. As I don't know much about _Gravitation,_ this thing was written and cobbled out together on a fly. Otherwise, enjoy!

_**Warning:**_ _**AU ,**_ _**severely OOC**_ characters, _**SLASH Harry/Shindou, coarse language, cursing.**_

* * *

He was tired. It didn't help that some of his co-workers messed up again, and he had to fix the damage done. Sometimes, he really wished he hadn't got into all those trouble to hide himself away from... that world, but it couldn't be helped. Stay there, and be hounded like an animal, every hour of a day by reporters along with greedy idiots that called themselves his friends, while in reality, they weren't even passing acquaintances.

America was quite convenient country – lively, wild, full of opportunities and just right for the bloke like him to vanish among the sea of people. Exhaling loudly, he rubbed his eyes tiredly.

He was sick of it.

Sick of loneliness, explosive rows and that uncomfortable feeling he was somehow wrong, even if consciously speaking, he wasn't.

You see, Harrison Black dated a famous singer.

And he knew all the perks that came with dating the hellish brat, too. It was funny, how they met one time – one time only, and that was in a supermarket.

The brat crashed into him, bawling his pretty violet eyes out something fierce, and knocking the milk carton out of Harrison's hands.

Of course, Harrison – or rather, as friends knew him, Harry – was not very happy with the pink – haired nuisance, and promptly told the idiot off. The ditz – because Harry could only describe the brat as a ditz – looked at him with his huge eyes, and somehow, Harry found himself agreeing to... console the young man.

In their short chat, he found out that the brat's name was Shindou – something – he didn't care about that, and he had apparently broke up with his boyfriend. Cue the waterworks.

Harry had thought that he wouldn't have seen the brat in any way, shape or form, but he was wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong.

The ditz was obviously some kind of a glutton for a punishment, because he somehow found out where Harry lived and followed him home. And of course, Harry, even as cynical as he had become, couldn't let the homeless teenager sleep on the streets, because the gangs were aplenty in the district he lived in – honestly, Harry was surprised the brad hadn't been raped yet, what with his effeminate body and skimpy outfits.

So Harry had, nilly-willy – taken care of the ditz.

The ditz was very firm in being called Shindou.

Time passed, and one day, Harry found his little abode being invaded by Shindou's ... things. His toothbrush. His CD's. His clothes. And who would forget his sweets.

It almost caused him a heart attack, because – just when did he agree to the brat practically moving in the small scrap of a flat he had?

He huffed mirthlessly. That morning seemed so far away now, it wasn't even funny.

And he still remembered their last row.

They had been together for almost three months, Harry bearing with Shindou's outrageous quirks and quibbles, every now and then exploding and sending the brat away. Or trying to. Even if he had been right, and the brat had been in wrong, Shindou somehow made him feel like dirt beneath his shoes, like he would have to be grateful for the time Shindou deigned to spend with him.

Like Shindou wasn't a freeloader who didn't clean after himself and came in the flat at the strangest night hours, often smelling of booze, perfume and sex.

Like Shindou wasn't breaking his heart, little by little.

* * *

_**/Flashback/**_

It was half an hour to midnight, and Harry was becoming really worried. He had called to the recording studio where Shindou worked, but the maid said that there was no one there, so that ruled out Shindou recording late. The other possibility was, that Shindou had gone partying, as he usually had, and Harry was stuck here – his motorbike had broken down yesterday, and even if it hadn't, he wouldn't have known where to search for the pink – haired annoyance.

"Just where are you?" He muttered to himself, his left hand ruffling his already messy hair again. The green-eyed man was tired, cranky and concerned. But most of all, he was hurt.

He closed his eyes wearily, as he inhaled the stale air. It still smelled of Shindou – how could it not – but right now, the scent that usually soothed his nerves, sickened him to his bones. It was sweet, cloying scent with a hint of bitterness from tobacco. The small kitchenette was dimly lit, and still warm from the summer air. It was a quaint place, barely enough for two persons comfortably working, but it suited Harry, even if Shindou, when they were deeper in the relationship, began to complain that the whole place was making him claustrophobic.

Harry was clad in his boxers and a white short – sleeved shirt that hugged the contours of his body. He didn't like to wear undershirts because of his scarred torso – the prysical reminders of a dark hex that almost took his life when he duelled with Macnair. It still pained him from time to time, but Shindou was absurdly interested in the grotesque collection of skin and meat being arranged in a semblance of a chest. It always made Harry uncomfortable when Shindou demanded that they have sex with Harry's shirt off – it always made him feel like some kind of a monster, and Shindou's fascination with something he considered an ugly reminder of his past, didn't help one whit.

Shuddering slightly, Harry rubbed his chest in order to calm some of his anxiety. He leaned back at the wall, looking at the clock once again. Just when he began losing hope, he heard the known clack of the lock being opened.

Jerking up, Harry's lips thinned as his eyes glowed with anger.

Shuichi stumbled into the flat, cursing as he almost hit the umbrella stand. He was drunk as a skunk, smelled like cigarettes and a booze and it really didn't helpt that he had a quickie or two before he deigned to get home.

Home. His lips quirked into a parody of smile. This little shithoe was no home, but it was better than nothing. It was as far away from Yuki's wide, sterilised-feelign flat as it could be, to the point Shichi felt the walls closing on him. The feeling spooked him, but Harry stubbornly refused to move into better apartment. A couple of their rows circled around that particular pet peevie, and more often tan not, Shuichi found himself kicked out at those occasions. His roomate dealed woth his...eccentricities almost like Yuki, with the exception – he was overly possesive bastard who hounded his steps.

Dark eyes narrowed in anger. He didn't ask for it! He wanted to have uncomplicated relas –rel –something, but the bastard had to latch on him and interrogate Shuichi even when he came half an hour later than he said he would – well, more like hours later, but who cared? Shuichi was now his own man, thank you very much!

He burped, blinking the drinking haze off of his eyes lazily. Now, if only that possesive idiot would leave him alone –

"Where were you?" An annoyingly familiar voice growled at him. Shuichi bit back a curse.

_No such luck. Damn. _

"Why the fuck do you care?" He bit off harshly. "I'm not a kid, so quit bossing me around! "

The green eyes behind thin eyeglasses narrowed. "No, Shindou. This had gone far enough. "

Shuichi bit off a hysterical laughter. " Far enough? Far enough, you say? As if it isn't enough that i have to live in that rat – infested little hole and treat to your overbearing almightiness, " he sneered at the rapidly paling man. " If anything, you fuckin' owe me one! "

He swayed drunkenly, as he poked the man directly on the chest harshly, making him wince.

"Ohh, yes", he cooed out maliciously. " I forgot, you can't even get a whore to fuck you, what with your scars – "He belched loudly. "So let's lay it on poor,_ defenseless_ Shuichi, shall we? "

The man winced under the harsh touch. "Shindou, that's enough". Shuichi barely heard the voice, even with his sharp ears. But he was too buzzed to, nor did he care at the moment. He ruffled his pink hair nonchalantly – or attempted to. Instead, his movement was jerky and awkward.

"You know what. Fuck you. I've given you my best years, and you are trying to keep me in your quaint little aparmrnt, as if I were some kind of a dirty little secret. " Shuichi's voice became progesivelly louder. "Half the time, you treat me like some goddamn kid who still poops in his diapers. "

"_**Shindou!**__** "**_ The man barked out harshly. The glasses reflected the street light, making Shuichi unable to read Harry's emotions. " I've had _enough__"__._ The man snarled out. "I'm tired of your whining and complaining and having to wait on you hand and foot. And yes, you are still little brat who is too fucking naive to know anything about the world. You had one relationship crasing and burning – _boo-hoo,_ what a tragedy. Suck it up and stop being such a melodramatic brat queen! "

Shuichi growled. "Heh. You really have a room to talk about that, old man", he sneereed out derisively. "And so what if I am moping after Yuki? He was better than you were at any rate – "

_SLAP!_

His left cheek, he realized belatedly, stung. Disbelievingly, he touched the handprint.

His stupid, slow brain finally realized that he had gone too far.

"... You hit me. " He noted dumbly.

The man was motionless. Even if Shindou saw a glimpse of regred in thise verdant eyes, they were steeled with resolve that frankkly, made Shuichi scared shitless.

"I'm done with you. " Harry told him, his voice quiet. " I will allow you to sleep off the hangover, but tomorrow, you will give the keys to the flat to me, pack your shit and disappear from my life. "

Harry watched Shindou's eyes widen with fear as the brat gulped loudly. But this time, Harry had had enough. He wasn't about to be anyone's punching bag, least the whinly, little spoiled brat of a singer. He had been through too much, seen too much, and if Shindou couldn't bear with him, why should he with Shindou?

Sure, the brat somehow got into his heart, but that didn't mean Harry should bear with his primadonna behaviour any longer he had to. Not that he didn't understand Shindou being under pressure, what with Bad Luck being on rise, but Shundou had it easy when compared with him.

Closing his eyes, he inhaled though his nose and rubbed his eyes. Go to bed. He ordered, his voice flat.

Shindou quietly lumbered off to their bedroom. Harry let him, as he slouched himself on the small couch, resigning himself to an uncomfortable night.

_**/End flashback/**_

* * *

True to his word, Harry stood firm and evicted Shindou out of his little flat, and no pleads or threats from Shindou's friends moved him to let him back in.

Sometimes, he heard about his ex-lover – Bad Luck finally seemed to catch a favorable wind in music waters. Well, Shindou appeared to improve his English, at any rate. Harry had to suffer thhough the ditz's mix of English and Japanese, and only a month before they had broken up, Shindou's English became a mite bit better. At least his insults were top notch... Harry truly wondered what those managers were teaching the up and coming music stars. Surely swearing was prohibited?

Well, he had no luck. As soon as he came in his little abode, one of Shindou's little friends – Ryuichi, was it? – ambushed him, and nilly willy, he was stuffed into clubbing clothes – Harry took a perverse enjoyment at Ryuichi's sick face as the man was his chest. Served him right.

Unsurprisnigly, that was a concert of Bad Luck. Harry felt a pand of nostalgia when he was watching Shindou charming his audience. Even if the little brat was an annoying nuisance at the best of times, there was still a redeeming quality somewhere in the brat – deep, deep within him, of course. Harry had seen the teen, and he was just as broken as he had been, even if the circumstances were different. Harry was healing from war, and Shinou was trying to overcome Yuki and his hard attitide.

Looking, back a t their time, they clashed a lot, quarreled a lot, and their copulations were more than not mindless fucks, intended to get them at least a small bit of reprieve from reality.

Sometimes, it worked.. Sometimes, it didnt.

And damn it, he missed Shindou!

Shindou on the stage was more... mature. Not that Harry woudl know, but he fancied himself as a pretty good at knowing Shindou. Closing his eyes, he listened to the music. It wasn't what he would have listened to - he leaned toward old crowd – Beatles and the likes, although he developed a liking for dark bands, like Nightwing or others .

The concert impressed him a little, because it had shown him how far Shindou came. When the brat wanted to, he was pretty impressive.

But the look in Shindou's eyes bugged him a little. It was darker, and more... Sad? If that was a right word. He was clothed in simple black leather trousers with a pair of belts ridding low on his hips, and with almost see – through tight purple sleeveless shirt which hugged his lithe body sexily, and on his ledt upper arm, he had a black band. With a jolt, Harry recognized it as one of the bands he had used in the was, but he had stashed away. It seemed that Shindou, in his puppy – like curiousity, messed among his things, and took a liking to the damn thing. It didin't help it was an official Order sign – it was a black band, with golden sign of a phoenix of a middle, entwined with a dragon. The work was surprisingly detailed and delicate, even if Harry knew it was nigh indestructible, with all those charms and enchantmets.

Shindou's hair was a little longer, reaching his shoulders in a tamed disarray.

"Well, thank you for your participation, people. " Shindou began, his smile easygoing, when his fans chuckled or generally made noises of approval.

"Anyway, there is our last song of the evening -" Here, Shindou became uncertain, his eyes squinting a little, as if he was searching for a particular person in the gathered crown.

"Um – if you don't mind, I would like to sing a new song. "

That caused a buzz between the curious listeners.

"I – "Shindou gulped. "I would like to dedicate it to a special person. Harry – I know I hurt you, and I know we parted on bad terms, but I still love you - "

The crowd was in an uproar.

"- This song is for you", Shindou concluded, biting his lip, as he scratched his neck. " And I am sorry. "

Harry was frozen. He wanted to move, to go away, but he couldn't. For some reason, his feet were glued to the floor.

"So, folks, here it is – _I'm No Angel.__ "_

The catchy beat attracted the crowd's attention pretty quicky. It was unlike of Shindou to go with such an... _easygoing _ style of music.

Inhaling, Shindou prepared himself.

And then, he began.

His voice was surprisingly mellow and subdied, nothing like brilliant tones he usually indulged in.

_If you gave me just a coin for every time we say goodbye  
Well I'd be rich beyond my dreams, I'm sorry for my weary life  
I know I'm not perfect but I can smile_

It was, as if he was telling a story of his life.

And in a way, Harry realised with a start, he did.

_and I hope that you see this heart behind my tired eyes  
If you tell me that I can't, I will, I will, I'll try all night  
and if I say I'm coming home, I'll probably be out all night_

Shindou's eyes were tired, and lost, the green – eyed man noticed. Inhaling, he moved, uncomfortable with that revelation.

Damn it, he promised himself he wouldn't have felt guilty about that brat!

_I know I can be afraid but I'm alive  
and I hope that you can trust this heart behind my tired eyes_

The crowd murmured in confusion, but it seemed that they liked the way where the music was going to.

Shindou closed his eyes, as he reached forward as if trying to catch an invisible hand.

I'm no angel, but please don't think that I won't try  
I'm no angel, but does that mean that I can't live my life

With a jolt, Harry's eyes widened. In that little moment, Shindou seemed like an... angel. A broken one, but still one, nonetheless.

_I'm no angel, but please don't think that I can't cry  
I'm no angel, but does that mean that I won't fly_

He smiled a small, sad smile. This song... it spoke exactly about how he felt when he was still in that backward magical world.

And in strange way, he knew that this song was Shindou's apology.

_I know I'm not around each night  
and I know I always think I'm right  
I can believe that you might look around_

Harry's heart gave a jolt when he heard those words – he was uncomfortably reminded of their last night, and subsequent row. And it seemed that Shindou still remembered it, if the sparkling tears, which were sliding down his pale face, were any indication.

The light glittered off the small tear tracks, when Shindou was apparently pouring all of his feelings in the song.

I'm no angel, but please don't think that I won't try  
I'm no angel, but does that mean that I can't live my life

It was regret, it was hope, it was broken promise, and it was something that niggled at Harry, like a hopeful little puppy, who still tried even when the owner shooed him away.

Tightening his mouth in a thin line, Harry tried to get away, but the crown around him was like live wall, encasing him among the bodies, and not letting him out.

He gulped.

He didn't want that.

No matter how tempting it seemed to be.

It was over.

Over.

**Over...**

Gritting his teeth, he set on convincing himself that it really was.

At any rate Shindou was better off without him, and he was better off without Shindou.

But his foolish, foolish heart believed otherwise.

_I'm no angel, but please don't think that I can't cry  
I'm no angel, but does that mean that I won't fly_

The music concluded in a gentle shower of sounds, tapering silkily to a muffled sound of the end.

At first, the crowd was quiet.

And then, it exploded in roars of approval.

* * *

Finally, he managed to fight himself out of the crowd of excitedly chattering people and squealing girls.

He strode to the ext quickly.

To his salvation.

_Almost – _

"Harry?"

He flinched at the tentative voice. He had managed to creep to the exit nobody should have knew about, and wasn't it just his luck to be interrupted by him?

Exhaling softly, he rummaged in his jacket for a cigarette.

Lighting it up, he practically jammed the damned thing between his lips.

Hunching his shoulders, he made three steps forward, away from that nuisance –

"It's you." Shinou's voice was strangely meek in the darkened evening.

"Well, yeah." Harry grunted out.

He resisted the temptation of looking back. What was the point?

Shindou would be better off without him.

Without him.

Without...

"You were here," Shindou breathed, half-awed half-hopeful.

"I did." The short answers seemed to be the safest route.

He heard shuffling behind his back, and tensed.

The silence between them was thick and uncomfortable, full of unsaid words.

"I better go home." Harry muttered out, as he exhaled the smoke, trying to calm his nerves.

"_**NO!"**_ Both of them jumped up at Shindou's loud voice. Harry was pressed to look at the source of the loud voice.

Both of them froze.

Green eyes stared into violet ones, and Harry could see the smudges of eye bags under Shindou's violet orbs.

"What the hell are you doing to yourself?"

The question was blurted out without as much of his conscious effort.

At Shindou's hopeful look, Harry clamped his mouth shut, glaring at the brat, making the brat – no, man now, shrink back a little, those gorgeous violet eyes dim a little.

"As if you're looking any _better_," Shindou bit back, growling a little.

Harry huffed.

"None of ya business, _boy_." He retorted. "Now, excuse, me, but I have to - "

He managed a yelp before his head was dragged down and a familiar strawberry and tart taste of Shindou exploded on his tongue.

"I _apologized,_ didn't I?" Shindou panted out, as they separated for air. "I_ know_ I was being a brat. I know I hurt you. But _damn you,_ don't you _ever _behave like you are a saint yourself!" The young man snarled into Harry's surprised face.

Harry huffed. "What do you want?" He asked. He was tired of fighting, His brain was saying to stay the hell away from he brat, no matter how delectable he had became, but his heart was another matter.

He was distinctly aware of the brat – Shindou - being almost at tall as he was. So much about the height intimidation, he thought to himself fleetingly.

"I want a chance." Shindou managed to say out with a calm voice. Harry's eyebrow quirked.

_Oooh_, how blunt.

"What makes you think that you deserve one?" He said flippantly. "Maybe I already have a new boy-toy."

Of course, he was deliberately cruel, but he was cruel to be kind, really.

Or just plain sadomasochistic.

The sunset made Shindou's face glow with light and painted the soft shades on that unmarred skin.

The singer winced. "I had Suguru tail you – " He mumbled out, aware of the older man's stiffening body.

"_**You what?"**_ Harry snarled out. He didn't know whether should he be flattered or insulted he had been tailed by that perverted reject of a monk.

"Oh, come on!" Shindou cried out, exasperated. "I want a chance, is that too much to ask for?"

Dark eyebrow twitched as Harry contemplated what he should do.

First, he was still clinging to the bra – _Shindou._

Second – if he knew the stubborn arse, he would be hounded, and it was already bad enough Shindou outed his name. He really, really, didn't need to be outed more than he already was.

He jerked out of Shindou's grip.

"Fine." He grumped out. Shindou beamed, and damn it, if Harry hadn't missed that sunny grin of his.

"But we are doing things my way."

Shindou grimaced. "Just no that rat-hole of yours," He nearly begged the man.

Green eyes looked at the cringing singer sardonically.

"What makes you think I will allow you back in my flat?" He said dryly, making Shindou gape unattractively.

"Oh_, come on!"_ Shinou whined, as the man began to walk away, prompting him to scurry after him.

Harry quickly hid a smile behind a stern mask as he began bargaining with Shindou on what would constitute of giving a second chance.

The sunset was brilliant, painting the sky in red, golden and orange streaks.

Finally, they settled on a drink in an unobtrusive little cafe Harry claimed they have absolutely divine ginger cookies and hot chocolate.

It wasn't much, but it was something.

It was a beginning.

**_The End_**


	27. Your Lunatic

_YOUR LUNATIC_

* * *

_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own _Harry Potter, Bleach_ or the song used – I own only this little story. Well, not so little._ Yikes._

_**Summary:**_ Harry's life with lunatic, called Gin Ichimaru is nor particularly peaceful... but what to do when the said lunatic wants to date you? See how Harry manages that particular challenge.

_**Shout Out;**_ _Yow!_ Well, this is it... result of my over – listening to Billy Joel's _**You May Be Right**_, pulling all nighters to play chess games – and losing miserably and my frustration with my thesis work. Ta-dah. Here it is. And because some anonymous reviewer kindly chewed out two of my stories, I reiterate. _**Read. The. Fucking. Warnings.**_ _/Serious growl/groan/_ I don't write them (warnings,) out for my amusement, and _yes,_ some things I had written may have squicked out the readers, but I posted the warnings for a reason. So. When I_ warn_ you about something, I _mean_ it. Thank you for letting me rant out, and thanks to the ones who support me in my crazy way of writing. You rock!

_**Warning: **_ This time, it's _**finished story. AU – verse,**_ and _**SLASH,**_ meaning _**Harry Potter /Gin Ichimaru**_. _**Curse words**_ and wacky situations. Oh, and _**Gin **_is probably a little_** OOC. **_Timeline is after Voldemort's and Aizen's defeat. And yes, Gin survived._**  
**_

* * *

_Friday night I crashed your party  
Saturday I said I'm sorry  
Sunday came and trashed it out again_

_SLAM!_

The door crashed open as a slender youth stormed into the room. If anyone would have seen him, they would have cowered in the face of his anger.

Green eyes flashing, lips twisted in a snarl and hands clenched in fists, twitching to hurt something.

Or better, some_**one.**_

"Gin, you _BASTARD_!" The youth hollered, the vein on his right temple pulsing slightly.

"Yeh called?" The roared-after person asked lazily, his vulpine face smoothing out in a grinning mask.

Oh, but it was so fun egging that one on...

"Don't '_Yeh called'_ me, Ichimaru!" The young man barked out, incensed. "What the fuck were you thinking, crashing my party?"

Now named Ichimaru Gin smiled a snakelike grin. "Livin' it up?" He asked innocently – or as innocently as he could.

The green – eyed youth didn't believe him.

"Your version of '_living it up'_ consisted of perverted remarks, double innuendos and groping my ass – did I forget anything?" He asked sarcastically, while he moved across the room to the still smiling culprit.

"Hmmm... Lemme think." The culprit mock – pondered, his silver hair glinting in the light as he tilted his head just so. He was clad in pale blue tight T – shirt with scruffy jeans and a small black necklace with weird metal ornament hanging on his chest. His right hand had a wide black wristband, and currently, he was barefoot, as was his habit. He was lying on an old brown leather couch – the couch was scruffy and probably old as dirt, but it was still ridiculously comfortable, if you excluded strange scent of cigarette smoke, leather and cat food. (Don't ask.)

There was a dark red carpet on the floor, and a small, knee-high table which was littered with remains from pizza delivery and four cans, three lying about and one still in... use, of root beer.

Green eyes flashed at the display, disgusted. Then, they widened at the book the silver – haired teen held in his hands carelessly.

"Gin..." The teen said calmly.

Gin smiled away. "Yes, Harry?" He asked sweetly, making Harry grind his teeth helplessly, and incurring within him violent desire to throttle Gin.

One Harry James Potter was officially the favourite toy to poke, prod, tease and grope, owned by one Ichimaru Gin.

"Is that _MY_ book?" The teen, now known as Harry, asked calmly.

Closed eyes widened for a small margin, as the silver brown jumped up. "Uh..." Gin squeaked out. "Um... Maybe?"

Harry had to inhale deeply not to explode at his rather mischievous flatmate.

He should have been used to it.

Unfortunately for Harry, Gin always, always,_ always_ found something that pressed Harry's red buttons. Harry would have transferred to any other flat – really, he had begged the administration to get him the hell away from the fox-faced, silver – haired menace that masqueraded on the student campus under the name Gin Ichimaru, but no such luck. Apparently, the administrator, had, upon Harry's rather incensed announcement of intending to switch the flatmates, received the petition of the entire campus, not to let Harry switch under the pain of death – apparently Gin was roomie from Hell, and nobody wished to be on the silver demon's black list just because the said silver demon managed to piss off the one person that was brave – or insane enough to room with him.

Moving away to some apartment didn't work. Gin always found him, and somehow, Harry always found himself agreeing to return back into their flat with the ominous number 666 written – or better, scrawled onto the front door. It was meant as a joke, but Gin, twisted fucker as he was, unfortunately appreciated it, and the stupid scribble stayed, and no one – not even inspectors – dared to say anything against the desecration of public property.

"Nevermind. " Harry waved the topic away calmly, making Gin quietly sigh in a relief. Harry was rather possessive of his books, and Gin having to sneak one or another away was usually overlooked by the green – eyed teen, but woes betide Gin if he had tried to touch his flatmate's _'special'_ books. When he had done the heinous deed the first time, Harry almost rained the fire and brimstone on his head, going so far as to chasing Gin out of the apartment for three days before calming down and allowing him back in. Ikkaku, Kenpachi and Ichigo, along with Shiro had been roaring with laughter when they heard about it, much to Gin's pouting, but the fact remained, Gin terrorised his way in - Harry may have had peace those three short days, but not without frequent ... visits of the campus members begging him to take the hellspawn back in, even going so far as offering reimbursement for the book Gin so callously used as a makeshift plate for pizza slices.

What? It was handy!

"So tell me... again, why did you have to crash my party." Harry continued calmly, "While I expressly forbid you to come, to happen upon, to pop up, to just visit, et cetera. Well?"

Gin looked at Harry's expectant face, but Harry's tapping foot reminded him that his flatmate's temper was on short fuse already.

Even _Rangiku_ wasn't as scary as Harry was when he was waiting on Gin to defend his misdeeds.

_Eek. _

"Um... Sorry?" Gin offered meekly, while he shrugged. Arched dark eyebrow and disbelieving glare prompted him to try again.

"But I was _booored!"_ Gin whined out, pouting. "Ya weren't there, my pals were away, Ran-chan was consorting with the stick-in-the-mud Kuchiki, and I – I just _missed_ you!"

Harry sighed. That was the crux of the matter... as always. Gin was a genius, and his studies were apparently too easy for him – although Harry for the life of him couldn't figure out just why Gin didn't accept the offers for elevating him up in the education process yet. It was frustrating, and on some part, touching that Gin stuck with him, despite of his superior abilities, but...

The pissing contests really weren't worth it. Sometimes, Harry wondered, just why he didn't have gray hairs yet. Wait, he did – last morning, he found three new ones, and Hermione, curse her sadistic little soul, had pulled five out of his poor scalp, disregarding his yelps of pain just yesterday.

What? It _hurt!_

Green eyes stared at the silver – haired male. Who appeared to be appropriately contrite, at that.

Harry sighed. "Alright." He grumbled out, making Gin smile at his little victory. "Now, gimme back my book – I know you've read it at least three times over. And I need it for my assignment."

Beaming, Gin tossed it back to Harry, who caught it effortlessly.. "Here ya go. What will be for dinner?" Gin asked, grinning.

Despite of still being irritated, Harry couldn't help but smile at his fox-faced friend.

"You in mood for pasta with tomato sauce and chilli meatballs with green salad?

Gin's grin widened to impossible proportions. "Hell yeah... Have I told you I love you?" He asked, making Harry snort with amusement.

"Down, boy." Harry teased back, making Gin pout and grumble.

It was shaping to be a calm conclusion of Saturday evening.

* * *

Sunday, the same week. Harry was just listening to Seamus' excited retelling of one of him more... raunchy adventures in Auror training, laughing helplessly at the funny bits when –

"Hiya, folks. Who wants some beer?" An annoyingly familiar voice chirped from the kitchen.

Harry's spine stiffened.

'_Don't you __dare __to show your fox-faced mug in here...'_ He mentally growled at the culprit.

Besides, shouldn't Ichimaru have gone off to some famous lawyer's courses or something?

Alas, Gin wasn't telepathic, for all the proofs on contrary, and the silver – haired bastard entered with a plate, loaded with tins of root beer and snacks, with an innocent – _yeah right_ – grin on his fucking face which Harry intended to smash into smithereens just after -

"Awww, Harry! Why didn't you tell us you have such a _hunk_ for a roommate?" Lavender exclaimed, her big eyes roving over Gin's body greedily.

"Because he's a jerk." Harry growled out, making Gin pout and the women glare at Harry. "How could you say that about him?" Susan reprimanded him, pinching the skin on his left biceps rather harshly and making Harry yelp. Harry glared at her when she turned away from him and smiled at Gin. "Don't mind him, Gin; he's just jealous you are so awesome and he's not," she stated kindly, as she moved to help Gin unload the tray, and then kissing him on the cheek.

"Aww, ya flatter me, darlin'." Gin mock-swooned, much to Susan's amusement and Harry's helpless annoyance.

Ron caught Harry's eyes and nodded sympathetically.

For some reason, whenever they had a party, Gin appeared, him being a Muggle notwithstanding.

It was weird.

It was annoying.

It was downright _creepy._

But hell yeah, it would be hella fun.

* * *

_I was only having fun  
Wasn't hurting anyone  
And we all enjoyed the weekend for a change_

In the Monday morning, Harry glared at his... sleeping companion half – heartedly. Against his best efforts, Gin had managed to insinuate himself among his friends and ex-classmates, and what was the worst, the fucking douche-bags unintentionally broke the Statue of Secrecy. Harry knew that Gin wasn't normal – he was way too creepy and weirdo for that, but the silver-haired son of a bitch somehow managed to circumvent all rules and regulations – and what was the worst, Harry didn't know how!

He had to admit to himself – they had fun the party was awesome, and the flat was disaster zone – but nothing that some wand – waving couldn't fix.

Ah, the joys of magic cleaning...

Harry sighed as he looked at Gin again. The man was still in his black sleeveless shirt and deep gray skating pants – well, no skating pants, but in deep red boxers with the yellow snitch stitching on the crotch – Harry had to flush at the image.

Gin's body was long, lean and muscled on the right spots. He had pale skin with some intriguing scars which gave him appearance of dangerous individual, but with his soft, pale skin and calm face, which was curiously devoid of the customary fox grin, Gin seemed like personification of innocence.

Even if said _'innocent' _individual filched the boxers form Harry's stash of gag gifts he had received through the years.

For some reason, the boxers and snitch amused Gin – Harry nearly got a heart attack when he first saw just where his favourite boxers ended - but no amount of reclaiming, threats and faulty items diverted Gin from regularly snatching the boxers and wearing them, with Gin cheerfully proclaiming that they were his lucky item.

Harry nearly died from embarrassment when one of the flat mates – it was a cheerful girl, half Hispanic and half – African, petite with red and yellow cornrows for hairstyle- came in their flat in the middle of their little argument just whose were those particular boxers, and of course, she totally got the wrong picture.

Rebecca – or Becky, or Becks, as they called her, quickly drummed around the campus about their... shall we say, involvement, and no matter how hard Harry tied to deny it, the rumours remained, and when Harry, in his frustration, demanded of Gin to help him disprove the rumours, the damned fox-face cheerfully fuelled the fire.

It was said – or known, that the two were a pair, despite of them not being a pair – just flatmates, if Harry had any said in it.

And no, the mistletoe kiss didn't count.

He had also kissed Mark – tall, tanned blond with deep blue eyes and stone face, who was also a linebacker for his university, and they didn't end together – even if the kiss had been nice.

It didn't help that whenever Harry had a ... date of sort, Gin managed to ruin it, in one way or another.

Even Remus – the traitor – remarked how good they were together; even if he believed Harry they were just friends.

Yeah...

Harry closed his eyes, sighing.

Just.

_Friends._

He failed to see those closed eyes open to reveal burgundy red orbs who looked at him affectionately, and more than a little bit possessively.

* * *

_I've been stranded in the combat zone  
I walked through Bedford Stuy alone  
Even rode my motorcycle in the rain_

Gin grinned his insane, wide grin, as he kicked down the fuckers who badmouthed Harry. The bastards thought to nicely – not – maul Harry just because he was involved with another man – but unfortunately, they didn't count on Gin to be that particular man Harry was – supposedly – in relationship with.

All in all, Gin and Harry were an infamous through the student campus – Gin because he creeped everything and everyone out, along with being a genius, and Harry because he lived with the said creepo without any stupid consequences – i.e. broken bones, concussions, mental breakdowns, et cetera. Since Harry had came to live with Gin, the campus was calmer place, even if the residents had to bear with Harry's fits of temper over Gin's misdeeds over some or other thing, but otherwise, life was good.

"Now listen to me, dumbass." He grabbed the ringleader of the thugs for the nipple ring and yanked, making the man yelp with pain. "Leave Harry alone and I won't kick yer asses to loony bin." The slits opened, revealing dark red eyes with glint of ice blue glinting through them.

The thug leader shuddered. The silver – haired dude had creepy red eyes and it didn't help that he had managed to effortlessly kick the shit outta him and his gang, even if they were armed with knives, spikes and whatnot.

"Wha's tha' to ya, punk?" He growled out, in his last ditch effort of idiocy.

Gin smiled.

And it was not a nice smile – it was the smile he reserved for when he was kicking the shit out of Aizen's Espada grunts.

It was sharp and absolutely chilling in intensity.

"'Oh? Didn't I tell ya? I'm Ichimaru Gin, and Harry is mine. So back off,_ bitch_."

The thug leader paled chalk white.

This – this slender, twig – like dweeb was – was the infamous silver demon!

The lightning and thunder in the background didn't help in lessening his terror.

* * *

Gin watched the idiots scamper away, his eyes slowly closing to his customary half – moons.

He sighed.

This joke of his was no good.

Hell, he knew that Harry wasn't his - no matter how much he wished the green – eyed man would be - but it was nice to pretend.

It was nice to piss off the man, making him all huffy and puffy – even if Gin sometimes came close to death with his stunts –

Because pissing off someone as powerful as Harry just wasn't advisable, even if Gin was confident in his abilities to at least hold his ground against the wizard somehow.

Not that he ever tried his little theory in reality, of course.

But it would be nice.

Maybe... someday.

Rukia did say that Harry had massive potential in Reiatsu, after all.

Gin sighed. The rain began to fall, wetting his clothes, but he didn't care.

He fixed a massive, psychotic grin on his face.

He opened the cell phone and pressed on the speed dial.

It was time to piss off Harry some more.

* * *

_And you told me not to drive  
But I made it home alive  
So you said that only proves that I'm insane_

Harry nearly got a heart attack when he found out about Gin's plans.

First, Gin accidentally missed his train.

Second, he was mobbed by thugs.

Okay. Harry could stomach Gin being late, and he learned that thugs had nothing on the crazy silverette.

"But how will you come home, then?"

"Aw, don' ya worry yer lil' head, Sparky," Gin's voice cackled through the phone.

"I'll drive."

Harry made an agreeing noise in the back of his throat, before he caught himself.

"In that rain?" He asked doubtfully, as he looked out of the window. There was a veritable hailstorm outside, and driving in such conditions –

"Ayup." Gin's voice was cool as cucumber, and cheerful as fucking sunshine.

Harry's Gin sense began tingling. Meaning, Gin was up to something crazy, and that '_something crazy' _couldn't end well.

"Gin," He said calmly. "Please don' tell me you are driving a car_."_

For all his genius, Gin was absolutely dismal with handling vehicles.

"Nope," Gin's voice was entirely too cheerful.

Harry got a really, really bad feeling.

"I'm driving a motorcycle."

Harry blanched.

"_GIN!"_

* * *

Nervously, he waited on the front porch, muttering threats under his breath. It was dark, the clock was something half past ten in the night and the batshit – insane idiot Harry called his friend, was traipsing around on motorcycle.

Alternatively, Harry was praying and cursing.

'_Just let Gin come home in one piece... Please.'_

Finally, he heard the noise of a motorcycle in the distance.

Heedless of the rain, he bolted out, and sure, there he was.

"_YOU BLOODY IMBECILE!" _Harry roared as he saw just which motorcycle Gin managed to snatch out.

Gin's cheesy grin became wider. "Aww, darling, I knew you missed me but," He dramatically put his hand on his chest. "You wound me with your unkind words. I came home safely, didn't I?"

Harry didn't know whether he wanted to laugh, cry or throttle the idiot to death.

Instead, he shook Gin fiercely.

"Hope to _high Hell_ that my Godfather's 'cycle is without _tiniest _scratch," He hissed out, making Gin blanch in stark terror.

"And," Harry continued with calm voice, "We will have words about you driving... habits. Honestly, " He huffed out as his green eyed darkened with annoyance. "Please tell me at least that no bobby caught your drunken traipsing you call driving through the streets."

Gin scratched his head sheepishly.

"Um, well... About that..."

This time, Harry didn't fight the urge to face palm.

He grabbed Gin's hand and yanked him into the house, not minding the peanut gallery one whit.

Gin was incredibly tense about the damages done to Harry's precious motorcycle for three or four days...

... Well, Harry didn't tell him that the motorcycle was enchanted against such things.

Served him right, the insane idiot.

* * *

_You may be right  
I may be crazy  
But it just might be a lunatic you're looking for_

Harry smiled at his date uncomfortably. Not that it was anything wrong with the date – oh no, the man was nice and gentleman and they could hold an intelligent conversation, but in comparison with Gin's crazy persona, Harry couldn't help but feel as if he was missing – or better, forgetting something.

Or someone.

A shadow settled over the table, and the man's gray eyes sharpened minutely.

"Lookie what the cat brought in," A familiar voice drawled out just behind Harry's back. "But I must confess, I was surprised you could even haul your ass up for somethin' like a date, _Primera_."

The scruffy man tilted his head, like a curious wolf. "Ah, Gin. I didn't think I would meet you in the living world." A slow smirk made Harry's neck prickle with feelings of dread.

"So you two have a history, Starrk?" He asked mildly, trying to diffuse the situation.

Instead of that, Harry could swear he had seen lighting flash between the grinning fox-face and the lazy wolf... and he had no clue why.

But if he knew anything, the things were due to go south... as they always did at this state.

Even if he had a premonition that Coyote Starrk would be more than a decent opponent against his lunatic protector.

Sighing, he resigned himself to the unenviable fate of having one more failed date to go through. This was... what – his fiftieth?

Yup.

* * *

The walk home was quiet. Harry was still seething over Gin and Starrk having made a mess in the restaurant. Apparently, Gin managed to successfully needle the_ 'Primera' _- Harry made a mental note to ask Gin what did that meant – and lo and behold, the restaurant, when they finished with their little pissing contest, was worse than a Swiss cheese. They broke tables and chairs, tore through the walls and successfully terrified the customers into mass exodus, just to flee the killing intent the two of them emanated. The only one, who remained in the war zone, was Harry.

When he finally stopped the two combatants, it was already too late. The restaurant was in shambles, and they were put on the black list of the restaurant - and Harry mourned that fact. This restaurant was his favourite, and to be banned away was a capital offense to his attempted peaceful lifestyle of living.

Let's not mention the property damage he would have to pay for.

All in all, the evening had been ... exciting, even if it hadn't been in the context Harry had wished it would have been.

"Why did you do that?" He asked the still seething Gin.

Both of them were walking back to the campus. They could have gone on a bus, but Harry decided to go on foot, to cool his head and temper. Right now, he didn't want to be in a mass of people.

Gin mumbled something under his breath.

Green eyes narrowing, Harry looked at his wayward friend. "Gin..." He muttered out, exasperated. "Let's face it – whenever I am getting the date, you somehow show up and _ruin_ it. I could understand that Yoruichi chick was a bit... over the top – "

He ignored Gin's outraged squawk of_ "- A bit!" _- as he continued. "Mary – Kate was kind and gentle, and we had a grand time, but when you pop up, she blanched and excused herself. I don't know what you have done to her, but a day later I got cell phone message that she was sorry, but she didn't think she could date me." He rounded on Gin, staring into his still closed eyes. "And let's not even _mention_ when my colleagues invited me to party – "

"Good thing I showed up, then," Gin cut him off coolly, his face, for once, serious. "You could have been in a nasty shit – "

"The point_ is, _"Harry intentionally used louder voice, "You are for some reason sabotaging my dates, and I want to know_ why_!" They now stared face to face at each other, with Harry having to crane his head up a little to see the silver – haired idiot properly.

"I have the right to stay silent," Gin returned, without missing the beat.

A tense moment of silence twanged between the duo.

Harry sighed. "Okay," He mumbled. "Then why are you so pissy when I am trying to date males?"

One silver eyebrow twitched.

'_Aha! Gin is breaking!' _Harry thought in triumph. It was a rare sign, but Harry just knew when Gin was at the end of rope of patience. Oh the perk of being the best male buds...

"Starrk was okay – "Harry continued, only to be interrupted with a growl.

And he found himself staring in furious garnet red eyes. "He was _NOT _okay!" Gin spat out, his teeth flashing in an annoyed snarl. Slender fingers twitched for his trusty Zanpakuto, only to remember where he was. And why.

Harry lost it. "That's not about Starrk!" He finally exploded. "Why the fuck don't you want me to date anyone!"

"_BECAUSE I WANT YOU TO DATE ME!" _Gin finally hollered back in Harry's stunned face.

* * *

Harry was gobsmacked.

_Gin... wanted to date him?_

Seriously?

"Gin..." He whispered, only for those garnet eyes to close, but Gin's face was still serious – so serious it was almost scary. "That was what you wanted to know, wasn't it?" Gin bit out, his voice tight with tension. Harry gulped as Gin turned away, the very image of the mollified fox.

"I – I didn't know," Harry tried to tell Gin, only to be waved away with a scoff. _"You _didn't _know?"_ Gin snarled out. "What are you, stupid? I am a laughing stock among my – people for that stupid, idiotic obsession with you, and you tell me you didn't know!"

He rounded back on Harry, who stepped back. "I was leaving you clues front, back, left, right and centre, even going so far as to letting that stupid rumour to circulate around, but _noo..."_ He exhaled a sharp sigh. He visibly reined his emotions back.

"Now you know."

Harry was left to helplessly stare at the slender back of his friend as Gin turned around and strode away, his silver hair reminding Harry of shimmering veil of tears.

* * *

_Turn out the light  
Don't try to save me  
You may be wrong for all I know  
But you may be right  
_

Harry came back to their flat, his head still reeling from Gin's revelation.

"_BECAUSE I WANT YOU TO DATE ME!" _

Gin's voice reverberated loudly in his brains, stuck on repeat.

He looked at their living room. At first, it was Gin's room, but the mischievous man somehow managed to persuade Harry to change it into living room, which also doubled as their study place... meaning, the two of them slept in Harry's room.

Harry groaned in mortification. "Gin was right... I am stupid." He closed his eyes as he rubbed his left temple wearily.

The signs were right in front of his nose... but he stubbornly overlooked them, thinking that his lunatic friend was just overly affectionate fellow, conveniently choosing to overlook the fact that Gin was nowhere near that touchy with any of his ... people. Heck, Harry even remembered when Ichigo's father attempted to glomp him, Gin used some kind of martial arts to pile drive the idiot headfirst into the wall, regardless of the good intentions the man may have had.

The only one Gin allowed even a modicum of non-violent contact with his person was that busty woman, Rangiku, and even then –

Harry gulped.

In a span of one hour, Harry's world had been spun off of its axis so bad it was comparable with the shock when he found out about him being a wizard.

Being a wizard... he had easily coped with that.

But having his best male friend in love with him...

Was a whole another shebang.

Now... Just what should he do with that... information?

Harry admitted it was pretty cozy, having Gin so close and at hand, but... was he prepared to risk such a great relationship just because Gin... loved him?

Well, maybe not loved, but Gin's obsession was not anything else... Was it?

Harry plopped himself down on the worn out leather couch, Gin's favourite spot. He raked his hand through his hair.

Gin's expression when he said... that, was so serious, so passionate –

for a lunatic that made Harry more often than not crazy with anger and fuming at Gin's quirky antics...

Harry closed his eyes. He still remembered their first meeting_. _

* * *

_Remember how I found you there  
Alone in your electric chair  
I told you dirty jokes until you smiled_

It was just after the war. The things had been batshit insane - Harry never would have thought that the war could be so convoluted. Allies changed into enemies, and enemies became allies, sometimes in a matter of moments. He was just lucky he had his friends and...Well, he was just plain lucky, after all. But right now, he didn't have his friends along for a ride – Ron decided to bask in the fame, Hermione was trying to get her neo-liberal movement for freeing the house elves into motion, Luna - last he heard, she was searching with Neville for Crumple – Horned Snorkacks somewhere in Ireland, Blaise and Daphne decided to elope, Seamus was still in St Mungo's – he was one of the casualties in that last skirmish with Voldie and his Death-Chowders. Harry would have been in Mungo too, except he didn't want any fussing over the poor, battered hero, and so, he hightailed it put the fastest way he knew how.

And right now, that meant sulking on the bar stool, like it was an electric chair, in all his scruffy glory. Well, at least he was clean and his clothes were good enough to blend into the crowd. His right side still twinged – some asshole was near enough to graze him with a weakened _Sectusempra,_ but nothing that a potion and a good dose of sleeping for two days wouldn't fix.

It was dark enough, but still not late enough for the bar to close. The so-called quiet hour, before the patrons began coming in droves.

Harry muttered something distinctly unflattering under his breath when he was roughly jostled in his shoulder.

Harry growled at the biting pain. "Watch the fuck out where are you going!" He bit out at the offender.

"Buyin' you a drink counts?" The voice asked cheerfully, making Harry swivel his head around to catch a look at the offender.

Green eyes, shadowed with darkness blinked dumbly, as he saw silver – haired man, grinning at him, his closed eyes making him look like a mischievous fox.

The man was clothed in baggy dark blue skater trousers and black, body – hugging jumper with a set of dog-tags glinting on his chest. All in all, he looked like some kind of those wannabe hip-hop singers, and yet, he was something... Different.

Dark eyebrow quirking up, Harry sneered. "Of course. Would be a shame if you lost sense of direction."

The stranger chuckled at his sarcastic remark. "Then it's already too late, because I am lost in your eyes. Mind tellin' me how can I get out of them?" Meanwhile, he waved to the bartender to bring him a drink. "Oi, gimme _Manhattan,_ and for him, _Sex On The Beach!"_

Harry choked in his modest Siberian Sunrise. "You have some nerve!" He sputtered out, his cheeks flushing with anger. The man just grinned wider, his eyes still closed. "Tha' I do, "He agreed mildly, cocking his head on the side lightly, as if Harry's reaction amused him.

Probably it did, the fucker.

Harry growled. "You're feeling mighty lucky tonight, aren't you?" He growled out, hiding his mouth behind the glass.

"'Course I am, "The man readily agreed, his grin morphing in a small smirk. "Ya're still talkin' wit' me, aren't ya?"

Harry couldn't help but snort at the silver-haired man's audacity.

Even as deep in the funk as he was right now, his strange, funny new friend eased his worries somehow, even if he was irritating Harry's tender sensibilities most of the time. Harry had came in the bar to drink hid weight in alcohol – metaphorically speaking, caring not about him technically still being a minor.

But hell, what was magic good for, if not taking advantage of?

Besides, it wasn't anyone business how he decided to celebrate or sulk away the fact he had finally managed to kill the ol' Snakefart for good.

The bartender kept the drinks coming, and slowly but surely, Harry began to enjoying the evening_. _

* * *

_You were lonely for a man  
I said take me as I am  
'Cause you might enjoy some madness for a while_

The next morning, Harry woke up with the headache of the size of Texas. He groaned as he rolled around in the bed, snuggling in hard, warm ...body.

Blinking dumbly, he hissed a curse in Parseltongue as the light practically raped his eyes when he cracked his eyelids open.

The amused chuckle under his head didn't reassure him.

"Wakey wakey, sleepin' beauty," The male voice teased him, making Harry cringe and hiss in annoyance. "Call me _sleeping bitch _again, and I will tear out yer vocal cords," He mumbled out, trying to tuck his head somewhere far, far away from headache.

There was a small pause, as if his... whoever he was, couldn't believe what Harry had said.

Then, the man exploded in laughter.

'_Okay, that was it.'_ Harry was definitely annoyed now, and he needed his dose of anti – hangover potion right now.

Blood-shot green eyes looked at the mirthful face of the annoyance that was stealing away Harry's rightfully deserved sleep.

The Saviour of the Bloody Wizarding World blinked dumbly. "Huh?" He asked. "Who are you?"

The man grinned. "Why, I am hurt, "He mock-sniffed. "First you threaten me to tear out my vocal cords, and now you don't remember me, after all that wonderful sex we had – "

The_ S_ – word catapulted Harry right out of the bed, much to the amusement of his makeshift human pillow. "We _what?"_ He rasped out, his eyes wide.

The man laughed again. Harry had to admit, he had a very nice laugh, but right now, someone was driving proverbial ice picks in his brains, so he didn't manage to appreciate it as he should have to.

"I'm Gin Ichimaru, at your service," The man mock-saluted him, his grin making Harry feel butterflies in his stomach. "And relax; I jus' carried ya over in my flat an' let you sleep it over."

Harry's stomach dropped.

And those butterflies in his stomach were just the said stomach rebelling against its contents.

He spent at least half an hour worshipping the toiled goddess, before he was in any shape or form to strangle the idiot.

* * *

If Harry had thought he was free of the dumbass, he had to revise his belief. Somehow – Harry didn't know how, but Gin had something Zaraki's daughter, Yachiru, called Harry-sense. Meaning, Gin could track Harry out, no matter what Harry had done to prevent himself to be found.

One of such instances was, when Harry holed himself into Grimmauld Place one evening – and lo and behold, the next morning, he found one irritating annoyance, called Ichimaru Gin cheerfully puttering about in his kitchen.

Harry nearly had a heart attack that morning.

And all of his covert ... questionings didn't help him out about finding just what was his new funny friend.

After a month of cajoling, whining, and following from Gin's side, Harry had finally caved in, consenting to move in with Gin.

It had required pulling a couple of strings – after all, changing his learning certifications in right forms, not to mention catching up with the help of Memory Balls had been a bitch to do. Harry's Occlumency lessons helped, along with Temporal Field, but that took out a great chunk of his magical reserves, making Gin think he had some kind of an illness, and his friends cheerfully encouraged his venue of thought.

Although, it was curious. After they got to know Gin, Hermione confessed to Harry that Gin's aura, for the lack of better word, was creepy. Not like Voldemort's, but something more... sinister. Harry just blinked dumbly at his long – time friend's concerns. Gin was normal. True, sometimes he was a douche bag, what with his poking fun at Harry and everyone else, but he was normal... wasn't he?

In such moments, Harry dearly missed Luna. The spacey girl could explain just what was going on – even if she used her weird metaphors of invisible animals to illustrate the point.

When he had woke up after one of his nightmares, he found Gin sitting at his bed, glaring at him with his garnet red eyes. "Why didn't you tell me you have nightmares?"

Harry cringed at the serious expression on Gin's face. "Um... It was none of your business?" Even if he tried to bit the answer out, it managed to get out as a meek question instead.

A moment of silence, and then –

"Budge over." Gin demanded, making Harry blink at him owlishly.

"Huh?" Harry asked dumbly.

"You can't sleep. I can't sleep. So – the logical solution would be, that we will sleep together." At the end of Gin's explanation, the silver – haired man's face was in his customary grin, and Harry had to resist whacking the idiot's face with the pillow.

Even if he was grateful to the prat.

And if Harry thought it was one – time occurrence, he was sorely mistaken.

Because Harry was too proud for his own good, Gin challenged him to a poker and made Harry – after first few successful rounds – lose spectacularly. Gin's payment was simple – sleeping with Harry.

Harry nearly hyperventilated at first, but Gin just grinned and explained he didn't mean it in biblical sense. Not '_getting to know each other intimately'_ one, at any rate. But just plain sleep, snoozing and snoring included, but not actively encouraged.

Harry had been mortified over his premature jumping to_ (wrong)_ conclusions, whacking the snickering Gin in the face with a handy pillow and threatening him with no persimmon pies.

That silenced Gin mighty fast and making Harry smirk smugly.

* * *

_Now think of all the years you tried to  
Find someone to satisfy you  
I might be as crazy as you say_

Gin hung his head. '_Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.'_ He was a monumental fool to think that Harry had any kinds of feelings for him.

But...

Since that evening...

Gin had been crazy for Harry.

He chuckled a sad, sardonic sound. It was funny... everyone thought that if anyone, the one Gin would give his love to, would be Rangiku.

However, Rangiku was only his friend. Best friend – arguably one, since Harry became his friend too, and with Rangiku being wooed by that prissy Kuchiki clan head... Harry essentially replaced Ran-chan as best friend in Gin's heart.

Actually, that night, Gin intended to get straight to his flat, intending to bug his roommate a little bit more.

Well, it was fun to make them snap.

Shiro, Kurosaki's Hollow, agreed with Gin's sentiments, and even helped with the mental part of torture.

But this energy... Gin had unintentionally stopped, and allowed his legs to follow to that beacon of... seduction.

It wasn't like Ichigo's reiatsu, although Gin would admit that the Kurosaki brat had one of the most potent reiatsu feels around. Well, except for Zaraki and Aizen.

This energy was more subtle, like a sheer veil, that was hinting and beckoning onto something more...

Someone bumped into him, just when he was at the source of the energy, making him surprised enough to unceremoniously bump into the man.

Well, not man, but a teen.

A teen with most vivid green eyes, full of life, although those dark, emerald gems also held the knowledge of death.

Gin caught himself from making a social blunder with offer of a drink – _'Sex On The Beach',_ was it? It was Rangiku's favourite, if he remembered correctly. The teen jibed back something about Gin feeling mightily lucky tonight, and Gin had to agree.

And then, it was only the matter of keeping the conversation alive.

They talked, Gin made the teen laugh – Harry, as he found the teen's name was, had beautiful laugh – a little scratchy, so it sounded like purring of a great feline, and yet, it was strangely airy sound Gin could listen to for eternity.

His wallet was greatly thinned at the end of the night – the cocktails weren't for free, after all, but he was rewarded by snoozing Harry in his arms.

It had been all too easy to track the teen down and convince him to stay with Gin.

Gin growled low in his throat as he remembered the cause of his bummed out mood.

Harry just _HAD _to get out on date with Starrk, didn't he?

Usually, Gin was tolerant of the _Primera _Espada, and Starrk was likewise tolerant of him. But Starrk had made a mistake of treading on the turf that wasn't his – namely, attempting to claim one Harry James Potter. Harry was Gin's and Heaven help any foot who thought otherwise.

With Harry being as dense as he had been, Gin's patience was finally snapped. True, he sabotaged Harry's dates – at first, it was, because some of the people Harry intended to date were gold-diggers and scumbags, but he didn't blind himself for long.

Gin wanted Harry to be his... but how to get the thick-headed dumbass to recognize that fact?

Gin had done it all – marking his territory, with hugging Harry, pinching his derriere, teasing him and snuggling the said man, letting circulate around rumours of Harry's ineligibility, kissing Harry – the last one was not a success, blast that Mark fellow - and then, the cherry on a proverbial top of shit, the confession.

The silver – haired man couldn't help but growl to himself, getting some spooked looks from the witnesses.

If every dog had his day, this one surely wasn't Gin's.

And now, he could look forward to the tense atmosphere in their apartment, Harry eyeing him weirdly, or worse, Harry avoiding him... Oh the joys.

Harry's dumbfounded look still hurt Gin. Rationally, he knew he shouldn't have been angry with Harry, but he was fed up with Harry's attempts of searching after someone with whom he could spend the rest of his life, and leaving Gin in proverbial dust. Of course, Harry wouldn't really do that, but Gin was possessive of things and people he deemed his, and Harry became his most precious and coveted possession.

In fact, right now...

Gin looked at the small park he unconsciously trekked in while he contemplated his unenviable situation.

It was their park.

His and Harry's.

Where they could be crazy, Harry chasing after Gin, because the silver – haired shinigami stole the last piece of dried persimmons – Gin had hooked Harry on the stuff, and there was always a jar or two of dried persimmons, either sliced or whole ones, in their flat.

How Harry growled at Zaraki when the brawler called him shrimp, and promptly electrocuted him, much to that Quincy – Ishida's amusement.

How the green – eyed man yelped when Gin strode in the bathroom, claiming he didn't know it was occupied... despite of knowing it was, and just who exactly occupied it.

How he tricked Shiro into drinking _Bloody Mary,_ Harry's version – because the ex-Hollow pissed him off, Harry swore revenge, and so he dared Shiro to drink the stuff – which contained the strongest alcoholic liquid Gin had ever tasted – something Harry had called firewhisky, generously mixed with tomato sauce and tabasco along with wasabi instead of horse radish. The idiot hollow accepted the dare, and downed the thing in one go – and then literally spitting fire, narrowly missing Ikkaku, but Yumichika's hair was collateral damage, much to the latter man's wailing laments, and everyone else's laughs.

Not that it stopped Shiro messing with Harry, but it did make Rukia interested in remaking the drink from hell, and prompting a chain of funny, embarrassing and weird incidents, which resulted in Byakuya forbidding her ever going into bartending... but in secret, he closed his eyes when she tried her drinks on Grimmjow and Renji.

In fact, Harry was the one who literally yanked Gin from his funk after the war with Aizen. Gin's status of double agent may have had cleared his name, but Seiretei was still wary to trust him, so they kicked him to the living world, with gigai and guarding dogs in the shape of Ichigo, Shiro and occasional accompaniment from eleventh division.

Since he had been with Harry, Gin had done crazy things. He smiled at the memories.

Ah, those were the times...

But, did he regret them?

No. Not a single one.

Inhaling deeply, he turned around, and determinedly began marching to the student campus.

If he lost Harry, it wouldn't be because of his cowardice... no way, no how.

Time for plan B...

* * *

_If I'm crazy then it's true  
That it's all because of you  
And you wouldn't want me any other way  
_

Growling, Harry glared at the light orange wall. Usually, the walls would be white, but Gin, in his true fox-brained scheming, somehow managed to convince Harry to paint the whole apartment, and well... one of Gin's favourite colours was the colour of ripe persimmon. At least it wasn't fluorescent orange...Harry sighed.

Gin still wasn't back, and he was beginning to get concerned.

And _yes,_ he did miss the annoyance.

Closing eyes, Harry thought about his... _friend..._ again.

Gin was unusual. Better, Gin was crazy, batshit insane, and if he were sorted, Harry would cheerfully bet his entire fortune and virgin cherry that Gin would be ultimate Slytherin.

Harry may have won some arguments with the fox-faced bastard, but said bastard always found a way out... most of the time.

True, he was creepy. His war comrades didn't think much of it, because they had seen worse, and they were curiously desensitized to what Gin termed reiatsu. Although they did admit they felt uncomfortable if they were alone with Gin, and that Harry somehow... mellowed the man out.

To Harry, Gin was happy, if on the moments sadistic but always reliable friend and roommate. True, they did have their disagreements, and he did see Gin angry, but Gin always took care not to hurt him... too much.

Gin... understood him. When his friends became too overbearing, Gin was the one who herded them out, with garnet red eyes and some well – chosen words. When Rita Skeeter tried to spy on him, the beetle bitch was in for a rude surprise – Gin didn't say what he had done to the nosy reporter, but suffice to say, Harry had peace from her nasty writings.

And when he thought about it, that mistletoe kiss with Gin wasn't so bad, after all.

In fact... Harry licked his suddenly dry lips, as he gulped down the saliva –

- He wouldn't mind to try it again.

But one thing was his curiosity, and another was entering a ..._ relationship._

And with Harry, being a true blue virgin, he had jitters. First class ones.

As one famous prince of Denmark once said –_ 'To be or not to be?'_

Or, in Harry's case – To have enough of _cojones _to jump into the unknown with dating Gin, or...?

One dark eyebrow twitched.

Okay, the pros were all good. Now, for the cons.

Gin was sadistic, rude jackass who delighted in tormenting people, whether in verbal on practical way. And most of the time, Harry got the brunt of attacks. Gin was a little bit more merciful with him, but that didn't mean Gin's little, innocent jokes were all that.

Not that Harry was trigger – happy maniac, but with Gin in the same room, he came scarily close to it.

He still remembered one evening, when he was having a party with his study colleagues.

He naively thought he was safe from Gin, but the sadistic little bastard just had to surprise him, and with Harry still being high-strung from the war, the wizard grabbed the first thing he could get his hands on – unfortunately, it was a heavy crystal vase, and hurled it, full – speed, to the source of the sound he perceived to be a precursor of danger.

It knocked Gin clearly out, and shattered... which didn't endear him to his hostess much. But in his defence – just why did Gin have to say _Avada Kedavra?_

To be truthful, Gin only managed to get out _"Av - !"_ before Harry's reflexes snapped into action, but Harry had learned the hard way that firing first and asking later was much preferred method, while dealing with Death Chowders... and well, Gin was collateral damage. And vase was shattered, too...

Later, Harry had found out that Gin just joked, but if anyone, the joke was on him, because Gin was walking around the campus for whole week, with his left eye in pretty black colour.

So... dealing with Gin for the indefinite amount of time...?

Could he manage that?

Would he?

Both of them had secrets, and Harry had a hunch Gin's secrets trumped his by a large margin.

Was he still willing to trust Gin - and mostly, himself, to work everything out in their favour?

Imaging the Weasley Christmas, and Gin in the ring of redheads, causing chaos and mayhem made Harry chuckle.

He just knew that the twins would be excited about Gin. Hermione... well, Gin was a genius, even if he didn't flaunt his knowledge openly, but he could give the Gryffindor resident bookworm a run for her money.

He was curious about Fleur's reactions, and if he knew Mrs Weasley, Gin would be enveloped ion one of her bear hugs soon enough.

His smile fell at remembering Ginny.

Ginny...was the sore point of his acquaintance with Weasleys.

As the only girl, she was... how should he say it... _Sheltered._

Even if she was magically strong, she wasn't powerful. Not like Harry was.

For a short time, Harry had thought that she was the one, but with war around, his decisions had been made on a more skewered perspective. True, she became more mature, after the debacle with Riddle's diary, but with her eyeing him like a prime steak, when he was in his sixth year...

Harry shuddered. She was pretty... in a coltish kind of way. But women didn't do anything for him. Cho unintentionally proved him that, and Gin, along with Mark further affirmed that fact.

He just... didn't click with them well.

Not like with Gin.

Harry groaned.

Oh, he was _so _screwed.

Literally and figuratively.

Helplessly, he chuckled. The chuckles became louder, until they changed into laughter, and finally, Harry cried.

* * *

_You may be right  
I may be crazy  
But it just may be a lunatic you're looking for_

Gin would deny to his dying day that he crept into their apartment.

He would always say he came in with all the guns blazing; ready, willing and able to snatch Harry up to do away with some very perverted things.

But the sad, sad truth was, Gin crept into the apartment. Even if his steps were determined, he almost chickened out at the last few ones.

"Harry?" He poked his head into their bedroom tentatively, expecting all to know silhouette being curled on the bed, sleeping away the shocking confession Gin had stumped him with two hours prior.

Nothing. _Nada._

Harry's shoes were in their usual place, though.

Meaning, Harry was home.

Gin swallowed a ball of dread in his throat.

For all his bravery, he would rather face with Aizen – teme right now, than look Harry into his green eyes – but Gin never was coward.

Well, yes, he_ WAS_ a coward, but this was too important to flub it out.

So he gathered his courage and tiptoed off to the next doors... to the living room.

"Um... Harry?" he asked, his voice sounding curiously meek even to his own ears.

There, on the leather couch, was the one person that had the power to make or break his heart...

Dark head shoot up, and Gin had to hold back a flinch at seeing those reddened eyes.

Harry had been crying.

The knowledge punched him into a gut like a sledgehammer.

"Gin." The youth acknowledged him softly. Then, Harry tilted his head on the side. "Won't you come in?" He asked, curiously calmly for someone who received the shocking knowledge that his friend was head over heels in love with them.

Gin gulped. He wanted to joke - ask if it was safe to enter, but he felt that this was neither place, nor time for the cheesy jokes and pulling legs.

So he slowly came into the room, behaving as if he were led to his own execution.

He may as well be...

"Sit down." Harry patted the spot on the couch. "It seems that we need to talk."

"Do we really have to?" Gin didn't want to, but the question came out like some kind of a pathetic whine.

Harry's face was expressionless.

And Gin was scared shitless.

Harry was not serious very often, but when he was... oh boy, then you'd better run for hills and mountains.

"I'm sorry!" He blurted out.

Harry blinked. "You're sorry?" he asked slowly, making Gin cringe.

"I - I shouldn't have told you that!" Gin fumbled again, practically shaking in his non-existent boots as he cautiously sat himself near enough to Harry, but far away enough to be considered as him being removed from the temptation.

Harry's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. "You are sorry for wanting to date me?" He asked, incredulous, and if Gin heard right, his voice sounded a little pissed off.

And that, in turn, made Gin pissed off as well.

"I am trying to apologize here, you dipshit!" Gin snarled out, annoyed. "Firstly, _no_, I am _not _sorry about wanting to date you, but I am _fed up_ with you blindly traipsing around and looking for your one true love as it were!"

Garnet red eyes stared into emerald green ones, as the two practically got into each other's faces.

"As it we - !" Harry was speechless with fury. "Yes. " Gin deadpanned. "As. It. _Were_. Because like it or not, from now on, you're stuck with me."

The snarl on Harry's lips didn't do much to distract Gin from his original mission – well, it did, a little, but –

"Listen, you fucking _lunatic _– "Harry managed to growl out. "I don't know _who_ you think you are, but if you are looking for a serious ass-kicking, I could happily oblige your wish and send you to sniff out what Death's snuffle box looks like – close and personal."

At that threat, Gin couldn't help but bark out laughter of amusement. "You can _try,_ darlin'," He smiled his trademark grin. "You wouldn't be the first, an' you wouldn't be the last."

Harry's eyes widened, and Gin practically scented his nervousness.

"Now, I have one question for you." Harry watched him warily, as if here a predator, intent on devouring him.

Well, yes, Gin did intend to do something familiar although he intended to use more... pleasurable variant.

"Y – Yes?" Harry managed to squeak out.

Instead of verbal question. The wizard got a face – or mouthful of Gin.

Gin... kissed him.

_That sneaky fox!_

At first, Harry was too surprised to react, but when Gin began to persuade him with licking his lips, he couldn't help but moan and let Gin in.

Somehow, Gin pushed him onto the couch, with Harry's arms ending wound around the silver – haired man's neck.

When they separated for air, Gin looked at the man under him with the mixture of confidence and nervousness. He didn't want to be kneeled into the balls after all.

When he had done that once before, in a jest – alright, it was on Shiro's dare, he ended curled into a whimpering little ball on the floor, with Harry threatening him with dismemberment and Shiro practically howling with laughter, while Ichigo looked faintly green in the face with empathetic pains.

But now, Harry under him looked... dazed, speechless and thoroughly ravished. When the green – eyed man opened his mouth, Gin quickly silenced him with a finger on that saliva – moistened lips.

"Harry... May I be your lunatic?" He asked, with a small, shy grin curled on his face, and his cheeks blushing.

Those lips under his fingertips quivered, and then stretched into a smile, and Harry exhaled a breathy chuckle.

The chuckle morphed into a laugh, and something within Gin unknotted at the happy sound.

"My lunatic? Sure, why not."

Green eyes sparkled mischievously as Gin was tugged into another one of those dizzying kisses, not that he minded.

* * *

_It's too late to fight  
It's too late to change me  
You may be wrong for all I know  
But you may be right_

Harry had to exhale. Slowly. Seeing your boyfriend practically leap out of his body and ... fight those... Hollows... would to that to you.

His left eyebrow twitched.

"Did you know about Ichimaru's... _activities?" _He asked the small black cat with golden eyes calmly.

The said cat looked at the green – eyed man nervously. "Uh... Yes?" It squeaked out with a male voice which was elevated with trepidation. Harry was known to have a temper, after all.

But the man only nodded. "Thank you for info, Yoruichi." He muttered to the cringing cat. "I should've expected something that from him, but right now, I should contact the dumbasses they call themselves Ministry of Magic. You coming?" He motioned to the cat, whose golden eyes were practically bugging out of her skull at the information Harry had just haphazardly thrown at her.

"Y – Yes." The cat squeaked. "But what about Gin?"

Harry growled. It was a growl of absolute fury, and Yoruichi knew, that one Gin Ichimaru was in deep, deep shit with his boyfriend.

"The lunatic will be just fine. But after I will be done with him...it's debatable."

The fond smile Harry's face absolutely stumped the black cat.

"You... alright with him? That he kept such secrets from you?" Yoruichi asked tentatively, her whiskers twitching.

Harry gave her a long – suffering look. "Story of my life."

Yoruichi perked up. "That I've gotta hear."

* * *

_You may be right  
I may be crazy  
But it just may be a lunatic you're looking for_

Gin smiled his grin – No. He tried to smile. Honest to God, he tried, but it seemed that it didn't work out as he wished to.

"Damn it." He pouted at the mirror. They – he and Harry – were invited for customary Weasley Christmas, and someone kindly remarked that Gin ought to learn how to smile.

His grins, the said person pointed out, were just creepy. So if please, please, would Gin learn how to smile, so that not all of the guest would be spooked out?

There was a knock on the bathroom door, making Gin jump a little.

"Gin?" Harry called out. "Are you alright?"

Gin groaned. "Yeah." He called back. "What do you want?"

"We have to go," Harry explained. "You ready yet?" The green – eyed man frowned in confusion as he heard some puttering in the bathroom.

Seriously, Gin was behaving weirdly.

And that was worrying, what with Gin already behaving out of whack as it were.

Sighing, he looked at the clock at the wall. His eyes widened. "Gin, if you don't get out in five minutes, we will be late!" He called at the bathroom door, while striding into the living room.

A moment later, Gin followed him.

* * *

Harry stared. Something was wrong with Gin, and he didn't know what. The Weasleys accepted the with all of their usual noise and boisterous teasing. Gin was... behaving, for once, which was strange, but not enough to warrant any true concern.

"Hermione. I think something is wrong with Gin." He called to his pseudo – sister.

Honey – brown eyes widened. "What? I think Ginny is alright." Still the bushy – haired witch looked at the youngest Weasley girl like a hawk would at his prey.

Harry huffed with exasperation. "Not Ginny, 'Mione." He corrected her. "_Gin._ My boyfriend."

Hermione blinked owlishly. "Oh. Right." She turned to look at him.

"Does he always grin so... weirdly?" She asked, cocking her head on the side inquiringly.

Harry blinked. "Gin is always grinning. " He answered promptly. "Well, almost always. Why?"

Hermione's lips twitched, as she nodded at the talked about man, who was right now grinning at frustrated Ron. They were playing chess, and much to Ron's frustration, Gin had, once again, got him into check – and that was their fifth game. The previous four, Gin had won with ease.

"Look at him," She murmured, chuckling. "Notice anything?"

Harry huffed. "Nothin –_ huh?_" He stared at Gin.

He groaned when he found out what exactly had been bugging him about Gin's appearance.

"Excuse me," He said to snickering Hermione flatly. "I think I've got a Cheshire cat to teach a lesson."

He marched off to the desk, grabbing Gin for the collar of his pullover and yanking him out of the chair, much to Gin's yelped out protest and witnesses amusement.

* * *

"What is _wrong_ with you, Gin?" Harry rounded on his boyfriend of three months. Gin's grin vanished. "Is my smile not good enough?" He asked flatly.

Harry blinked. "Not good _enou _– What the _fuck_ are you talking about?"

The silver – haired man fidgeted. "Uh... Well, Rukia mentioned that my grins are scary, and I trained to be able to smile nicely..." He trailed off, looking away from gaping Harry.

Harry had to collect all his wits about not to burst out laughing or storming off to paddle some Kuchiki brat's idiotic ass. "She was wrong," He told Gin quite firmly, making the eyes open and those garner eyes looking down at him hopefully. "Really?" Gin whispered out. "But I wanted you to be proud of me – "

Harry silenced him with a kiss. After they came back up for air, the green – eyed man gently shook him. "I like your grins, Gin." He told him seriously, the ends of his mouth twitching slightly with amusement. "Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

And Gin smiled a small, but true smile. But then, groaned. "But why did I fail my lessons in smiling, then?" He whined out.

Harry paused. A proverbial light bulb went off in his brain. "So _THAT_ was what you were doing in the bathroom each night!" He exclaimed, his brain temporarily fried with the revelation.

Gin nodded sulkily. "When we got back...I hope Abarai is prepared to bury his girlfriend... _Ten. Feet. Under,_" He growled out petulantly, making Harry howl with laughter.

"You really are a fucking lunatic, aren't you?" Harry managed to choke out, wiping the tears of mirth off of his eyes.

Grin only grinned wider.

"That's _your_ lunatic, darlin'." He nodded self – importantly, prompting Harry into a new burst of laughter.

* * *

_Turn out the light  
Don't try to save me  
You may be wrong for all I know  
You may be right  
You may be wrong but you may be right _

They had fairly...interesting life. It was full of fun, happiness, weirdoes – be that dead, technically dead or alive ones, but it was theirs, and that was it.

Harry had gotten to know Ichigo's other friends – Ishida married Orihime, Ichigo had love – hate relationship with Shiro and Grimmjow – Gin was particularly proud of that pairing, messed up as it was. Zaraki and eleventh division were still as crazy as ever, and Rukia decided to jump into the marriage with Renji, much to Byakuya's chagrin, but it couldn't be helped. Chad had married Becks, the lively girl with red and yellow cornrows, and they got triplets – two girls and one boy, who all grew up hearing stories about his Uncles - be it Uncle Ishida, Ken – chan or Kitty -chan – Grimmjow still bemoaned his nickname, but one look from girl's puppy dog eyes, and he conceded. Thad didn't mean he didn't trash those who teased him.

Hermione, surprisingly became Mrs Coyote Starrk – apparently the Primera Espada had gotten over his fascination with Harry, and decided to tie the knot with the brainy witch. Not that it saved him from being whipped, anyway. They had twins, a girl and a boy –girl took after her mother, while the boy sadly got his father's characteristic laziness.

The Weasleys were rambutincuous bunch, as ever. Ron had gone one and became coach and later owner of Chudley Cannons, who had, in the time of his coaching, an uninterrupted streak of wins. He never did marry, although he had something of off and on relationship with Lavender Brown. Ginny married Terry Boot. The twins enjoyed their free style of life, occasionally terrorising Grimmjow and Shiro... and those two returned the pranks in spades.

Sighing, Harry closed his eyes. Yes, his had been hard, but it had also blessed him with good friends and a spouse who wasn't exactly his ideal choice, but...

He smiled at Gin's inquiring look.

"Ready for the next great adventure?" Gin asked, smiling his familiar grin as he stretched out his arm to Harry. He was clothed in Shinigami uniform, and Harry had to marvel at how youthful, and yet powerful his appearance was. Nobody could think that his lovable lunatic of ninety years was one of most powerful among angels of death. His lips quirked as he imagined Gin with wings.

He failed. Laughing softly, green eyes looked at the Reaper lovingly.

"Lead on, you crazy lunatic," Harry teased the reaper, prompting Gin to chuckle with fond memories of those wild times.

"_Your _lunatic." He answered gently, as he touched Harry's wrinkled out arm, feeling for the spiritual threads and gently separated the soul from the body.

He gasped as he saw Harry's form. The silver – haired man had gotten used of seeing his lover as old man – wrinkled out face, steel gray hair weakened body, but in front of him, there was Harry as he had been at the peak of his youth - a slender man with vivid green eyes and long black hair tied up in half – ponytail and clothed in black and green battle robes.

"Like it?" Harry teased him; a mirthful twinkle in his eyes at Gin's vacated expression.

He poked Gin's forehead gently. "I know you had a fetish for seeing me in uniform, but really, Gin – " He teased, before yelping as Gin harshly tugged him into a passionate kiss.

Garnet red eyes blazed with desire, and Harry couldn't help a shiver of arousal that skittered down his spine.

Absentmindedly, Gin opened_ Senkaimon_ with his blade. "You have ten seconds of start."

Yelping, Harry tore himself out of his lover's embrace and dashed to the light.

He looked forward to the next great adventure... that would begin in exactly ten seconds.

_**/The End/**_


	28. Sins Of Divinity

_SINS OF DIVINITY_

* * *

_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own _Harry Potter, _or _Fullmetal Alchemist,_ or the characters. I just own the story. Additionally, the other quote is cited directly from the book that is called _Recapitutation of Twelve Gates, _and it's classic alchemic text.

_**Summary:**_ Envy had died… but his _'death'_ was only the next great adventure. Harry was the younger brother of the Boy Who Lived – and he surely didn't expect his past to literally come back to haunt him – and in the flesh, no less! Follow the duo on their journey to create chaos and disorder in the Wizarding world.

_**Shout Out:**__/Annoyed groan/ _As much as I love writing, this plotdragon literally _sat _on my head until I wrote it out. The quote just _begged_ me to write the accompanying story, add Envy into the mess, and here you go. And I owe you all an apology for my latest false announcement in this series. I got an email that the word I used in _**Your Lunatic**_ in a description of a black skinned person –_ negro_ – was potentially offensive. And I, diligent and lazy person as I am, have corrected it, but neglected to post up appropriate warning for revised version. Sorry for the annoyance _/sheepish/._ Anyway, enjoy the following story.

_**Warning:**_ _**Severe AU-verse**_, both in HP and FM 'verses. HP 'verse is different because Potters live, and FM verse, because I kidnapped our favorite palm tree and deposited it smack-dab in front of Harry's nose. I am still undecided of timeline, but it hints to be in Harry's fourth or fifth year or something like that. I am still unsure of that – if I ever get to writing this in full, I will get a better idea of the appropriate timeline. Secondly, there are hints of _**slash**_ – _**Harry (Ariel - Ari)/Envy (Gabriel – 'Rie)**_. _**Characters may be OOC,**_ especially Envy, because I messed up FM timeline with adding Harry into the mix_**. POV switching**_ between Envy, Harry and third person of view.

_**Dictionary**__**: Torquero**_ – Latin root from _'torque'_ – meaning torture. A sickly saffron colored curse, the predated version of_ Cruciatus_ curse. It's effect is skinning the victim off of their skin, and later on, if under prolonged exposure, muscles. Because it's messy, it's not very convenient to use for longer period of time.

* * *

_You say God made us in His own image.  
But what if that included His rage  
His spite  
His indifference  
and His cruelty?  
God created all of us, we are all God's children  
but you see... God's a bit of a bastard._

_(Quote excerpt from the show 'Being Human')_

* * *

He could change. He could steal the people's faces and make them his own. He could use and abuse this power, and he had, perversely enjoying watching shocked, angered and dismayed faces of his victims. He could play mind games, letting his prey a little bit of freedom, of hope - before crushing it into the dust.

He was a monster - a jealous, envious beast that gorged itself on the anger, fear, betrayal and insecurities. And enjoyed it – yet, there was always that little hollow place, a tiny one, really, that envied those… mortals their cow-eyed declarations of love and friendship, despite his loud and oftentimes violent proclamations on the contrary.

It was simple. He couldn't be like them – he could never, ever be like them – and because of that, he spurned their attempts of holding onto their fragile hopes and dreams. He envied that shrimpy Fullmetal kid and his metal wastebasket of a brother. They had something he was never, ever freely given. So he taunted and mocked them, relishing their pain, fury and uncertainty. For a moment, he could pretend that they were the same - brothers, if not lovers, they could understand the misery of the world they had been so cruelly pushed into.

However, it wasn't enough. While they could commiserate, they always bounced back to their fucking naïveté, to their skewered beliefs of good and bad, black and white, forgetting the infinite array of grays he was trapped in.

Not human, and yet he felt like one. Not mortal, yet, he had died.

_Tried to,_ at least.

He had no one. And yet -

_Yet_, there he was, staring into shocked eyes of the person he never thought he would have seen again.

The only one who_ understood_ him.

The only one who had_ loved_ him.

The one who had _died_ - had been _killed_ when that foolish man they called Father, tried to resurrect his child… even at the expense of his own two sons.

"_Ari …"_ He choked out, reaching for his little one. Green eyes stared at him, wide with shock and confusion. "Who – who are you?" his precious Ariel managed to get out. "Only – only one person called me A – like_ that,"_ he quickly amended, "And he's _dead!_"

Harry stared at the weird stranger, feelings of turmoil and bewilderment churning in his stomach., the strangely clothed teen chuckled. "Same old Ariel, same old," And then, the - Man? Woman? Changed into the kind, gentle youth Harry remembered all too well, even if he tried not to, because it was too painful. Golden hair, gentle golden eyes and kind smile – and the green – eyed teen choked. He had seen the same face in his numerous nightmares – terror-filled dreams with phantom pain and helplessness and sadness so strong Harry felt as if he couldn't bear it.

"Ga – Gabriel?" His voice was strangled as he inquired this… phantasm_. "Rie?"_ He repeated disbelievingly as the teen nodded, hazel eyes happy, bright and hopeful and yet so unbearably sad.

Gabriel nodded, an impish smirk forming on his face. "The one and only," he tried to joke, but his voice fell as Harry tentatively touched him. "But _how?_" Harry whispered, dazed with the rediscovery. "I remember Father – "

"Father is _dead,"_ Gabriel interrupted him with snarl, as he abruptly morphed back into his slinky Homunculus form. "And a good riddance, I'd say." He spat out, violet eyes flashing in fury, making Harry flinch. "So… the experiment didn't succeed?" Harry whispered; his green eyes large behind his glasses.

Envy snorted. "He monumentally fucked up," He spat out, sneering, his eyes dark with ire. "You died and I – "He gulped as he motioned to his body – "Was changed into _this_." A sardonic smirk twisted his lips into self-deprecating grimace. Harry blinked. "But you are alive, aren't you?" His point – blank question made the sin cringe. "Try the opposite," Envy drawled out, his body still tense with fury at the … person who should have burned in deepest, darkest pit of Hell for what he had done to them. Especially to Ari.

At first Harry didn't quite get it, but then, his eyes widened with epiphany. "_Don't tell me _– " He hissed out at Envy vehemently, as he harshly grabbed the sin by the shoulders – " – that the imbecile managed to – "

"– _Transmute _me?" Envy finished, reveling in the fury that sparkled in those verdant eyes. Harry's face went slack for a second, an expression of a sheer and total disbelief, that was soon wiped out by a beyond pissed off one that made the witnesses cower away from the irate wizard. Even Envy had to remind himself that this livid creature was his little brother – but Harry sure didn't help with his anger on Envy's behalf. Even if he did look rather fetching… Envy licked his dry lips absentmindedly.

This was the reason he teased Edward. The Fullmetal alchemist had notoriously short temper and was very easy to rile up. Envy always had enjoyed their… encounters. They reminded him of Ariel. His dear, sweet little brother that was gone because of their father's stupidity. Ariel may have had rather mellow disposition, but when someone made him truly angry… he was a sight to behold. Compared to him, Edward's fits of anger were like little firecrackers to exploding nuclear bomb. Oh, Ed _did _come close sometimes, but he just… _lacked._

Harry's grip on Envy's shoulders was vice-like. He had to breathe in deeply to forcibly calm himself.

"Ari?" Gabriel muttered to him, violet eyes concerned. "You okay?" Harry snorted as he loosened his grip, refusing to blush with mortification at his action. "…. No - it makes me want to use a ritual to bring him back and _intentionally_ _botch _the transmutation just to let the bastard suffer," he muttered sulkily, ignoring the scandalized gasps of the onlookers. _ "Harry!" _The bushy – haired girl admonished him, looking quite…. Indignant at his choice of punishment. "How could you - !"

Harry snorted inelegantly at her little holier-than-thou episode. "Can it, Granger. " He said to her shortly. "What Fa – _Hohenheim_ had done is a tantamount to the _Forbidden Three_ here." The girl flinched under the unyielding green gaze. Envy noticed the gap between them and the… peanut gallery. There was a family of redheads, two dark – haired and one tawny-haired male – one had untamable deep brown hair and wore round glasses and the other had crooked nose with lanky, greasy hair on his head and unpleasant sneer on his face.

The tawny – haired male was torn between glaring at the amused Homunculus and snatching Harry back to the safety, far, far away from the demented palm tree.

There was a boy, who was similar to Harry; only his hair was dark brown and his eyes were hazel instead of green, along with him being taller and more muscled. He was standing between the bushy – haired girl and a redheaded boy that was possibly his age.

"Who the Hell are you?" The latter blurted out, making Envy want to rip his piggy eyes out as he was being ogled rather… lustfully. He smirked. "I don't think you are worthy of knowing that _– OW!"_ he glared at Harry's stern gaze as he rubbed his ribs where Harry elbowed him. For such a small shrimp, Ari still knew where to hit for Envy to hurt, but Envy couldn't muster up the proper annoyance at his little brother's misdeed. But he conceded… for now.

"I am Gabriel Elric… the older brother of this little munchkin here," He managed to ruffle Harry's hair, before dodging a half – hearted swipe at him. Violet eyes gleamed wickedly as the wizards gawped at his gall. "Anyway, I don't like telling you more. Oh, and a word of warning – only Ari can call me by my name. Everyone else will call me Envy – or suffer the consequences."

The peanut gallery was stupefied.

"Harry? What's the meaning of this?" The tawny – haired male asked cautiously. Envy glared at the meek-looking male, not liking how he looked at him. The mutt just rubbed him all kinds of wrong, and with the said mutt trying to get Ari away from Envy…. Well, that firmly booked the flea-bag into Envy's bad graces; no matter what would his Ari say on the matter.

Harry blinked as he was being enfolded Envy – Rie's hug. Smiling slightly, he allowed Envy to cuddle up against him a little bit more, much to the surprise, shock and dismay of the witnesses. It had been so long since he was enfolded in his brother's embrace –

"Get away from him." The bespectacled male ordered, as he tried to inconspicuously draw a wand. Harry looked at his father incredulously. Well, not father – okay, James Potter was not a father figure, period – but Hohenheim hadn't been exactly the Dad of the Year either.

"No." Harry whispered out, relishing the reassuring squeeze his brother bestowed on him, not seeing the malicious smile Envy sent to the irate wizards.

Harry was his, and that was it.

* * *

The Grimmauld was dark and dreary place, and nobody would think it also dubbed as a base of operations for the Light side. Envy would have commented that this was just like his usual haunts back at the Amestris, but that would raise more questions he would have been willing to answer, so he refrained from speaking up.

After a small scuffle, it was decided to put all the cards on the table, so to speak, and get to the bottom of the secret that was Harry Potter and his…._brother._

From what they knew, Harry was the younger brother of Kyle Potter, the Boy–Who-Lived. However, while his twin brother was a little bit stronger than an average wizard, Harry was deemed to be a borderline Squib, and nobody knew why. His scholastic results were, while academically impressive in theory, the practicals left much to be desired. Because of that, Harry was a social outcast in Hogwarts, not that it bothered him much… or at least it seemed that he wasn't overly bothered by it. He was mostly seen in the company of Longbottom boy and Loony Luna, but otherwise, he faded into obscurity… when Hermione didn't badger him about one or another thing, of course.

He was always an odd one out of the Potter family – something that was glaringly obvious when the family was being seen in the public. It was in little things – different face, not a mix of Lily and James, but something more… elegant, and there was a time or two when he was mistaken for a Black or an offshot relation of them. He moved and spoke differently – too mature for his age and sometimes, it seemed that he wasn't as comfortable with wizarding culture as his peers were, which was strange, seeing as he lived his entire life in wizarding world, but he behaved more like a Muggle-born than anything.

And there were his odd… _hobbies._ Harry was unhealthily interested in science - _Muggle_ science of all things, and not like Arthur Weasley and his little collection of electric plugs, either. No, if anyone would have talked with the boy, he would be stumped to discover the boy was dabbling in Mathematics, Physics and Chemistry that was easily college level and beyond, and trying to correlate these subjects to their magical counterparts – Arithmancy, Transfiguration and Potions. Of course, as he had been sorted into Hufflepuff, nobody questioned his eclectic mix of knowledge as strange, even if Ravenclaws did eye him oddly when he was checking out books that should have been far beyond his level of understanding from the school library.

The tension at the table was high. There was the Order, and much to Harry's disgust and Envy's mild amusement, Kyle Potter with his…. sidekicks. Harry didn't have much time to fill him in about the situation in this strange world, what with them being ogled like couple of exotic animals in the zoo, but he knew his brother good enough to read his emotions like a book, even if Harry was now a little more closed off than before - but that was to be expected, what with them… growing up, so to speak.

"Would you care to explain your…._ Relation_ to Harry here?" The old, white – bearded wizard, clad in lime green and purple robes asked Envy, making the homunculus twitch at the feeling of compulsion trying to snare his mind.

"Why should I?" He sneered, reveling in the outraged gasps and murmurs of the crowd. Violet eyes looked over the peanut gallery malevolently, like a cat would eye the mice while deciding which one would be it's next squeaky toy for an hour.

"So you aren't!" The bespectacled man burst out, clutching his… _stick_ tighter. Envy sneered at him, making the man scowl.

"Sir? He claims to be Gabriel Elric – _urk!"_The bushy-haired annoyance managed to tell, before she was choking In Envy's grip, making the wizards jump up to rescue her.

"Release her!" Kyle demanded, his voice quivering. Envy sneered at the scent of fear that wafted from the boy. The brat practically stank with it, like some kind of a human-sized skunk, and to Envy's enhanced senses it was…. Very offensive.

"Harry! _Do_ _something!"_ The tawny haired man demanded, making Envy's eyebrow quirk with amusement.

"At least mutt knows which tree to bark up to," He commented dryly, making the dark, lanky man in the corner smirk, as the 'mutt' glared at the unrepentant homunculus.

The pink - haired woman clumsily aimed her stick at the man, but the man with peg-leg was faster, and fired the curse _"Torquero!" _His old voice barked out, as the sickly saffron curse shot at the smirking sin.

But before the curse could touch Envy, they heard a clap, and the next thing they saw was the curse slamming into the marble block that somehow appeared out of the thin air.

There was a taken-aback silence. Even Envy was surprised, but not for long. The sin blinked and then smirked as the wall crumbled into dust. "Well, at least your skills didn't rust, Ari." He chuckled as he nodded to uncomfortably looking Harry.

Harry glared at him, green eyes flashing. "Rie… Put. Her. _Down."_ He demanded, his voice low with tension. For a moment, it seemed that Envy would protest, but then, he chuckled and dropped her, making the girl squeal as her knees hit the floor with a hard thud.

"That was _you?_" Remus gasped out, as he looked over his honorary godson, making the said godson snort derisively. All the attention zeroed on Harry, making Envy tense at the glints of greed and curiosity in the assembled people's eyes.

"Yes." Harry's answer was short and sullen as he glared at Envy, making the sin inwardly wince at his brother's plight. Even before that miserable attempt of transmutation, Ariel was shy and didn't want the attention on himself – he preferred blending in the background, while Envy – or Gabriel at that time, was more likely to soak up the public's adoration, even if the only opinions he really took in his account were Hohenheim's and Ariel's.

And after Hohenheim's … _betrayal,_ Gabriel went… a little berserk, if you will. Okay, he had a master, but Dante was just a messenger. Lust filled the empty place Ariel's absence left in his heart, even if just a little, but Envy, even if he didn't admit it to himself at the time, was lacking.

Thus he attempted to die, but he didn't count on his… nature to hamper his imminent demise – and well, hell, whatever the Gate of Truth may have been, the fucking thing had done something useful for once in it's pitiful existence and deposited him …and hadn't it been a surprise that he found out his brother was still alive?

He shook himself out of his musings only to approach Ariel – Harry now. Whatever. What a stupid name his little brother had. Those…little _mortals _were annoying, but for Ariel's sake…

"Why did you try to choke Ms. Granger, Mr. Elric?" The old, bearded man asked him, his eyes glinting behind the glasses. The old bastard was scheming something, and Harry's… display of alchemy apparently turned some cogs in his brain that Envy had an unpleasant feeling they should have been better left alone.

"Call me Envy." The sin told the old man, sneering at him, and making people except Harry bristle with annoyance. Green – tinted long hair swayed slightly as Envy cocked his head. "And as I told the idiots, only Ari can call me by my name." He casually hugged Harry around the midriff, with the said recipient of his affections not even attempting to stop him. Violet eyes glinted mysteriously in the dimmed light, as he grinned a bloodthirsty smirk. "Any other idiot can go to Hell for all I care."

Harry wanted to groan at Envy's declaration. It was just so typical of his brother, but still – "When did you become so arrogant?" He grumped out, yelping as Envy tightened his embrace.

"Ah,ah, ah, that would be tellin', dear brother of mine," Envy purred into his ear, making Harry flush with mortification and pleasure. So ears were his weak point, sue him.

Envy smiled at the small shudder his action provoked in the dark-haired boy.

"Harry is not your brother, you jerk!" The redheaded boy – the sidekick one – exclaimed. Envy eyed him drolly, and the boy meeped as he tried to shrink back, making Envy smirk victoriously.

"Harry?" The old man called out, his voice a tad bit sterner. "Would you mind explaining?"

"Not particularly," Envy snarked back, before Harry slapped his tight, making him yelp at the contact. "Shush, you. Anyway, Weasley is both right and wrong. Technically, I am Kyle's brother, yet I am not." Harry explained cryptically. "What you don't know, is that Lily, when she was pregnant, researched some obscure alchemical texts, searching for a means to destroy Voldemort." The people in the room gasped or flinched. "Did she…?" The dark-haired man asked hopefully, hazel eyes wide behind the lenses.

Harry shook his head, crumbling the intangible hope of listeners to the dust. "No. What she did, was to follow an old inscription she had found in one of the books. I believe it goes like this:

_'Pale white and black with false citrine, imperfect white and red,_

_The peacock's feathers in bright colours, the rainbow in the sky above,_

_The spotted panther, the green lion, the crows beak blue as lead,_

_These shall appear before you in perfect white, and with many others,_

_After the perfect white follows the grey and false citrine also..._'

Harry's voice recited the old the clue calmly, lilting sounds rolling from his mouth like a calm waterfall, entrancing the audience. While the others were just plain confused, Dumbledore's eyes widened in recognition. _"Recapitutation of Twelve Gates,"_ The man breathed out reverently. Harry nodded silently. "Did she found it?" Dumbledore asked quietly, still thunderstruck with the revelation.

Green eyes blinked. "Depends on what you think she found." He replied solemnly. "You can find many things –"

"You know what I mean," The old man's voice became sterner and more fervent. Harry inclined his head. "Aye, she did. But there's always a price, and what she asked for…" He shook his head ruefully at the memories.

"Were you the part of the price she had to pay for?" Dumbledore asked, blue eyes gleaming speculatively, making Envy growl at the old coot's daring.

Green eyes hardened. "No. We each paid a price. Her for the protection of her unborn child, and me for Father's idiocy" His tone was clipped steel. "The Gate is different for everyone. Fa –_ Hohenheim_ attempted to resurrect his first son, who died from mercury poisoning." The bushy – haired girl gasped, and the greasy – haired man's eyes widened. Obviously, Envy noted, the duo knew just what mercury was… at least there were two intelligent enough people to maybe warrant a conversation… even if Envy had a hunch the girl would get on his nerves faster than he could say_ 'chibisan'. _Speaking of which – he turned his attention back to Ariel, curious what happened to him after they were so cruelly separated.

"The resurrection was a failure – I died, ' Rie survived, and because the foolish woman was pregnant at the moment she attempted to do… whatever she had done, there was a steep price." Harry continued, his voice a little bit hollowed. "The Gate is not something you would like to bargain with. The Truth…." He shuddered, prompting Envy to close his eyes and hug him tighter.

"She was carrying twins, and she didn't know. She wanted absolute protection for _one_ child, not two – and so, one of the babies' life was taken." Harry's eyes closed, so he didn't see the anguish that appeared on James' face. "But that was a mistake, because she already offered her life in exchange for the baby's life; however what was done couldn't be undone. The baby's soul was no more. "Harry gulped, as he opened his eyes again. "Anyway, at the same time – relatively speaking, of course – I arrived at the Gate, and the Gate decided to use my… soul, if you could call it that, for the body of Harry James Potter. From then on, you know the story."

Dumbleduore hummed thoughtfully, as he stroked his beard. "Hum. So she succeeded in a sense. But what about your… ability? You're a Potter, regardless of your soul's origin, and you should be fairly powerful wizard, and yet, you are merely mediocre."

James and Remus emitted sounds of protests at Dumbledore's remark. "Dumbledore, that was uncalled for!" Lupin snarled out. "So what if Harry don't have power to perform magic? His theoretical work is exemplary, just look at his use of Runes! And Potions – "

"- So what, he doesn't need to be powerful, Kyle is more than strong enough – " Kyle puffed up at the mention of his name weakly. He was still shell – shocked at the discoveries he had heard from his brother's mouth. And hell yeah, he was more powerful!

Moody moved restlessly, trying to chip in, but he was interrupted by Harry's mirthless chuckle. "I am not a wizard, Dumbledore. If anything, I am Alchemist."

"A – Alchemist?" The pink – haired woman squeaked out. "But - !" She wind milled her hands in an attempt to express her frustration with her inability to find the right words. "But you are still a kid!" She sputtered, her hair cycling through different assortment of colors, fascinating Envy immensely.

Harry quirked an eyebrow. "Tonks," He called her out, exasperated, as she continued to mumble rather incoherently. Dark eyebrow twitching, he glared at the scatterbrained Auror. "NYMPHADORA LUCIANA TONKS_, SHUT THE HELL UP!"_ Tonks froze at the shout, meeping meekly as wide eyes looked at the annoyed Harry.

Harry wasn't known to raise voice, not even when he was a baby. He was generally a quiet kid, and as such, easily overlooked one in favor of his louder brother. But when he was pissed enough_… hoo,_ boy.

Harry snorted. "Came from different dimension, _hello?_ Rings any bells?" He waved fingers for emphasis, making Tonks flush with mortification. "The previous soul may have been – or had wizard disposition, but I was – am, first and foremost, an Alchemist. And if you hadn't been exactly sitting on your ears through this whole meeting, you should have known that. Besides, Alchemy isn't the sole domain of witches and wizards, yanno?" Envy snickered at Harry's rebuke of the flustered witch. "The basis may be different, but there are still enough similarities for me to work around that particular detail."

"How should we know you aren't Death Eater trying to dupe us?" Moody's scratchy voice cut through the uncomfortable moment. As his magical eye swirled around crazily, prompting Envy to watch it in quiet fascination.

Harry exhaled a long-suffering sigh. "I, Harry James Potter, also called Ariel Elric, swear on my life and magic that everything I have told the Order of Phoenix and its affiliates about circumstances of Lily Potter nee Evans is to my knowledge truth, and nothing but the truth, so mote it be.

The light surrounded him, a gentle blue – whitish glow, but otherwise, Harry was unharmed, if he didn't count Envy's hug tightening around his midriff a little too hard. "Happy now?" He snarked out, prompting Moody to grunt with satisfaction and Lupin hyperventilate with belated terror.

"You – You just-!" Lupin gasped out, his eyes wide, and a little bit wild. "You just Swore_!"_ Harry nodded, much to Envy's confusion. "Yeah, and? It was the easiest way to prove that I am me and all that jazz." Harry cocked his head curiously. "But you just _Swore!_ Dou you have _ANY IDEA_ how _dangerous_ Swearing on magic is!" Lupin practically roared at the unrepentant green-eyed teen.

Envy's eyes narrowed with suspicion. It seemed that his little brother had done something monumentally idiotic, and he wasn't aware of it, which made him feel …. Well, pretty useless. And pissed, too.

"_Ariel…"_ He growled out, his voice low and dangerous. Belatedly, he heard Harry gulping slightly – a small sound, that to Envy's ears denoted that his brother was really nervous about something.

Envy turned Ariel toward himself. "What did you just do?" His voice became deceptively soft – the kind that lured the unsuspecting prey in the proverbial trap. Ariel squirmed in his grasp, refusing to look Envy into his eyes.

Furrowing his eyebrows, Envy reached out and gripped the teen's chin, lifting it up gently. "Ariel…" His voice held a warning tone within. "Sooner or later, I _will _find out. So it will be better for you if you just tell me what you have gotten yourself into this time. _Tell. Me. Now_."

Wide green eyes, the color of emerald looked at him. "Uh, it was nothing, really." Ariel began meekly. "I just Swore, on my life and magic that I told them the truth." Envy nodded. "And?" He prodded Ariel lightly, as he quirked an eyebrow in askance, making Ariel cringe. "Um… If I had lied, I would've keeled over, dead."

At first, Envy just stared. It just didn't register in his mind at once, but half a moment later, violet eyes widened with belated horror. "You did _what?" _Envy hissed out, his hair appearing a little spikier than usual. "Are you out of your _ever – fucking – loving – mind_, Ariel Elric!" He shook the smaller boy roughly. "I am not even _a full_ _day _in this weird Wizarding world of yours, and you want me to keel over with _heart failure_ with your antics?"

"No harm was done, Gabriel! Calm the fuck down!" Harry spat at the furious Homunculus. "I am still alive, am I not? And when did you ever know me taking harebrained risks?"

Envy snorted. "The Sigurd Array?" He asked sarcastically, prompting Harry to flush with mortification at the memory of the accident. "Oh, _come on_!" Harry whined, much to the amazement of the witnesses. As far as they knew him, Harry James Potter never whined! True, he demanded, he was grumpy, and frostily polite, but whining? Nope, no siree.

"Um… What's Sigurd Array?" The red-haired girl said meekly. Envy grinned maliciously. "It's a…secret!" He finished the sentence mock-happily. Harry rolled his eyes, his mouth quirking up ever so slightly at Envy's antics, but he was grateful for Envy holding his mouth shut on the subject.

"The less you know about it, the better off you are. " Harry replied with a tone that broke no argument. "Equivalent exchange isn't only a bunch of fancy words and prettied up actions you think it is." Viridian eyes narrowed at the nosy bodies in the room. "And if I find out – and believe me, _I will_ – that you searched the information on it, I_ will _hunt you down and hurt you. Badly. "He glared at the certain bushy – haired girl who flinched back as if slapped.

"Now see here – " The black-haired, bespectacled man interrupted. "That information could help us win a war – " He didn't manage to finish his rant, mainly because Envy appeared in front of him, as if by magic and punched him into the jaw, and then kicking him into stomach, crashing the idiot into the wall with the power of kick.

"You fucking _fool,_ Alchemy is not a thing you can kid around with!" Envy snarled, incensed. "You have_ no_ idea what are you demanding from us – the Sigurd Array is one of the_ Banned_ ones, because of the repercussions of it's use!"

"But Harry attempted the array and lived to tell the tale – surely it isn't so dangerous!" The man sputtered out weakly as Envy grabbed him by the robe and hauled him up like an unruly kitten.

Envy sneered at the idiot. "The Array almost claimed his life! If it weren't for _Father_ – " He choked out the hated name - "Ariel would have been _dead _as a doornail!" He growled into the man's chagrined and dismayed face. "By some weird kind of luck, Father actually _liked_ the shrimp – "

"Hey!" Envy ignored Harry's offended call as he continued " - And changed the Array to switch the recipients from Ariel to himself. If he hadn't been an immortal already, this thing would've offed him faster than you could rub your two braincells together." He dropped the dumbfounded man on the floor disdainfully. "Sigurd Array demands live sacrifices – live _human_ sacrifices, to be exact." He smiled mirthlessly; delighting in the man's sickened expression. "Still excited to use it?"

"So why did Ari – Harry use it then?" The tawny – haired male asked quietly, his amber eyes still horrified with the latest revelation. Harry scowled. "I was young and stupid," He grudgingly admitted, his cheeks flushing, but he held his head high. "I overestimated my capabilities because I thought I could manipulate the array well enough so that they wouldn't use the… _botched up _one." He growled out sulkily.

For a moment, Envy stood stock-still as the warmth filled his usually empty and spiteful hole in his chest. Ariel did that for him…. Ariel literally gambled his life in an effort to help him…He swallowed a tight lump of emotions down his throat. He looked at Ariel, who was highly mortified and guilty at his own failure, and he couldn't help a warm smirk appearing on his face. "You were an insane little shit back then," He returned fondly, not caring about the redheaded woman's rebuke of a _"Language!" _echoing somewhere back among the peanut gallery.

Harry looked at his brother, a small, abashed smile curling his lips. "I still am." He agreed, as he looked into those violet eyes. True, they weren't the warm gold color he was used to look at, but the violet eyes still held that familiar affectionate warmth he was cradling in his most precious memories.

They were in a strange world, which was at the brink of a war, and the side they were on was full of delusional idiots that didn't have even the faintest clue about the dangers of Alchemy, but that didn't matter. What mattered, was that they found each other again, and may God help those who were unfortunate enough to think to separate them again.

* * *

_**/To Be Continued/**_


	29. In Need Of A Hero

_IN NEED OF A HERO_

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_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own Harry Potter or Dragon Ball Z, just the harebrained idea of this particular story. Also, I don't own the song.

_**Summary:**_ Death as the next great adventure… Yeah, right. If you were an owner of three particular Hallows, sure. And unfortunately for Harry he fit that particular criteria.

_**Shout**__**Out:**_ Right now, I am one little busybody, scurrying everywhere to finish my projects, in real and fiction time, with real life taking priority. But no fear, I shall still up date /ahem/. Right now I sounded pompously_… __/sweatdrops/_ Anyway, this is a little shorter than usual, but with me working on my other projects, and crossovers…hope you will like it all the same.

_**Warning:**_ _**AU-verse,**_ severe modification of functions of Hallows and _**Harry/Gohan**__**s hounen-ai**_ – meaning boys liking boys. You were warned. Timeline after Voldemort defeat and Android timeline.

* * *

_Where have all the good men gone  
And where are all the gods?  
Where's the street-wise Hercules  
To fight the rising odds?_

_(Shrek 2 – "I Need A Hero")_

* * *

The Wand. The Ring. And the Cloak. Three Hallows , rumored to be gifts from Death itself to the three brothers because they had managed to amuse it so.

Whoever wielded the wand would be unbeatable in duel. Whoever possessed the ring cold talk to the dead and literally have knowledge on their fingertips. And whoever wore the Cloak… they were said to be unable to been discovered even by Death itself. Never in their long and bloody existence did those three items have the same owner.

Except for… _now._

And nobody had expected that the moment the three Hallows were activated would spirit away their owner to the great Beyond… or some such tripe. That unlucky person was one Harry James Potter.

The Wizarding World mourned his… passing and idolized him for his sacrifices.

Except… they were wrong.

The Deathly Hallows didn't deal only with Death. No, their primary function was something totally different, albeit equally terrifying.

It was Time.

And no, not tripe like those Time-Turners the wand-wavers were so fond of.

The Time was – could be better explained like branches of a tree. A decision led into one branch turning away from the main one, until another decision split the branch into two or three lesser branches.

Time turners could go back on the branches on the tree – but the Hallows acted like a graft – when ingrained in an owner, they transported the said owner into another Universe, changing the said Universe fundamentally in one way or another.

* * *

It was official, Harry surmised sourly. There existed some worse transportation mode than Portkey.

"_Oof!"_ He wheezed out as he landed on something…. Solid? Human?

"What the fuck?" the green eyed teen blinked dazedly when he looked at his… landing pillow. Except… the human landing pillow didn't look so good.

It was a young man with black hair and characteristic pallor of someone that was courting Death – the man's blue and red clothes were tattered and torn, and he was bloodied…

Biting back a muffled curse, Harry blindly reached for his emergency pouch – as an Apprentice Mediwizard he got used to carrying different healing potions on his person whenever he may have been at the time. Ron made a joke out of his habit, calling him Ratchet after some character in that Muggle film, Trans – whatever, even going so far as to gifting him with a wrench.

Hermione approved of his… practice, even helping him with enchanting the emergency pouch for such occasions – no matter what, Harry could summon his pouch, even without wand and if he were separated from it, the pouch would return to him at his call word. It involved some heavy-duty charms, some of them extremely dark and more than once, they almost came to blows with Goblins over copyright infringements, but after judicious use of vows and threats on both sides, Harry became the proud owner of Snoopy the Mokeskin pouch extraordinaire.

Shoving his hand into the pouch and ignoring the slight prickle on his finger – personally, Harry thought the damnable thing should be called Dracula for its bloodthirsty ways – he barked out "Draught of Life!"

Immediately a cool vial was being pushed in his hand, and Harry quickly withdrew it, simultaneously breaking the seal and popping the stopper, while with other hand, he opened the stranger's mouth, pouring the runny dark blue and silver contents into the man's mouth, forcing the patient's throat to swallow with brisk massage on certain pressure points of the said neck.

The Draught of Life was opposite of the Draught of Death – while the latter suspended the drinker into coma that resembled death-like state, Draught of Life worked opposite - it gave a consumer of the said potion enough of a power boost to jumpstart their body systems into a working order without the stress of defibrillation, fooling the body into restart without outside influence like an electric pulse. Instead of that, a Mediwizard used his magic in augmentation with the Draught of Life – he acted like a passive life station that supplied energy to rotate through channels. The procedure was Class 4 – extremely risky, and even experienced Mediwizards recommended a caution with the use of this particular method, but like usual, Harry didn't care.

"Work already, damn you!" The teen cursed as he hurriedly pushed his energy into the patient. Closing his eyes, he concentrated into pushing even larger amount of magic into his patient, when suddenly an alien energy zapped him back, making him yelp with unexpected pain.

Black and green eyes met in a dazed stare, mixed with confusion, exhaustion and pain, and on the wizard's side, a touch of irritation. "Took you long enough to wake up, Sleeping Beauty," Harry snarked before he reached for the pouch again. This time, he fished out two potions – one he downed himself, and the other, he pushed at the stunned man's lips.

"Drink it." He commanded to the dark – eyed man. The man complied sluggishly, before he was literally jack – knifed into a sitting position. "H – Holy shit!**"** He sputtered out, gagging as the steam escaped from his ears, his cheeks pinkening with heat. "What on Earth was that shit!"

The green – eyed stranger snorted at his phrasing. "Extra strong energizing potion. It won't last long – fifteen minutes max, and then you'll crash down to la-la land like nobody's business." He replied, his lips turned into a sardonic smirk. "You up to getting us to your hidey – hole?"

The black – eyed man blinked. "But – what about trunks?" he tried to say, even as the teen stood up and offered him a hand, as if he were a little kid in a need of help. Well… he was in need of help, anyway. "I don't care about your knickers. We need to go right now." The teen rudely interrupted him, making him choke at the innuendo. "We gotta go before anything that almost gave you your ticket to Neverland comes back and punts you back there. Now, upsy-daisy."

Harry's patient almost choked – again- at Harry's crass reply, but had to concede the point. "Okay," He grumbled out. Then, an evil smirk on his face should have alerted the unfortunate savior but… grabbing him into a hold, he barely had a time to hear the teen's yelp before they blasted off among the building and rubble.

This was the first meeting of one Harry James Potter and Son Gohan, and the history, unknowingly to the pair that was racing to the hideout to hide from the Androids, was irrevocably changed, a courtesy of three meddling Hallows… and one rather unlucky owner.

_**/To Be Continued/**_


	30. Match Made In Hell

_MATCH MADE IN HELL_

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**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Harry Potter_ or _Eyeshield 21._ I only own the lil' – or not so lil' story here.

**Summary: **What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas…however, marriages are the exception. But to marry a virtual stranger – and on top of that, said stranger is a male… oh, joy.

**Shout Out:** Well, this is the excuse for my non – existence on this site. That and real life situations. Work on fields, hospital and work again. _/grimaces/._ LasVegas was just too tempting not to use it in story _/smirks_/, and if there are any faults in description, they are not intentional… much. And yes, I know that technically, the 17 years is not the marrying age, but the Hell Pair disagreeed…Rather loudly. _/Glares at the culprits/._ Another thing, give thanks, praise and cookies to my beta, _**Moon Howling Banshee,**_ who helped me to tame the grammar issues. Seriously, you rock!

**Warnings:** _**AU-verse**_ from seventh book forward, messing up both universes. OOC of characters – a little bit, and oh yeah. This is _**rated NC-17**_ with reason – meaning graphic descriptions of sex… between two males. Yes, it's _**SLASH**_, pairing this time is _**Hiruma/Harry.**_ Another thing – there are **t_wo different timelines and perspectives…._** Three perspectives, if we want to be nitpicky…_/sweatdrops/._ Tell me if I should tag them appropriately if it confuses you. Until then, the warnings stand. Oh, yeah, and Hiruma's potty mouth is also included.

* * *

Usually, one Hiruma Youichi was on the top of the game. He was the boss, head honcho, you name it. His cunning and extortion ways were legendary…but right now, he had a headache a size of Texas, he was naked and apparently, gulp…_ married._

And to top off that ridiculous situation he found himself in, he just had to marry a male, hadn't he; a male he knew for – if the glance at the clock on the night stand was right, just… oh, some six hours tops.

And let's not forget the sex. Gritting his teeth silently, as his brain screeched to a halt at this tiny, but not insignificant bit of data… he stumbled to the bathroom and promptly began to hurl the leftovers of his nonexistent meal into the toilet. Inadvertedly, he also looked at the damn thing on his finger.

_Fucking ring._ He glared at the hapless item half-heartedly, but he had to admit the ring was a nice touch anyway. However, there was just one tiny error with possessing the damned thing. It. Fit. Too. Well. Meaning, no matter how many times he had tried to get it off of his finger, he had no such luck. A man would have thought that with his bony fingers he wouldn't have any such problems, but no, the ring held on as if it had been glued on with some kind of a super-glue or something.

Shakily, Hiruma stood up, glaring at the green and gold tiles on the wall sightlessly. The color reminded him of - his husband's eyes. More vivid, and with tiny golden flecks –

"Fu-uck!" Hiruma hissed out, incensed. For once, his considerable brain power refused to cooperate. Really, just how did it happen, and more importantly, how could that have happened to … them?

Then, he did the only thing he could.

He hit the shower. And while he was soaking under the scorching hot water, he bit by bit, remembered what exactly had happened.

* * *

The next day, after they finished the Death March the fucking team decided to hit the wonders of Las Vegas, or more precisely… casinos. And with a very valid reason, too. They lacked the funds the return flight to Japan and had to pay off the fucking trainer's debt on the top of it, and the quickest way to get the needed amount of money was… you guessed it, gambling.

Huh-brothers and Duboroku didn't have any luck. Sena and Monta did, at first, until Monta, in fit of his monkey stupidity, bet all of their winnings on number 21 – and they lost terribly.

The fucking cheerleader was glued to Mamori-nee, as she affectionately called the fucking manager, fucking fatass and his disciple were with the fucking old man, and the fucking prince was being ditz as usual.

And as usual, there came the Great Gambler Hiruma to the rescue. With his brain and tactics he easily wrung out the needed money from the dealer, leaving the poor girl in tears and causing the casino management to almost kick him out in the end, because he practically bled them dry of the cash. Yeah, life was good if you were one Hiruma Youichi.

But because you never can have too much money and just for the heck of it – more than winning Hiruma enjoyed the terror on his opponents' faces when they found out there was nothing they could do to delay the inevitable loss. Clashing his wits against theirs – well, it was just an additional bonus for the bleached devil of the Deimon High.

However, he soon got bored of the casino hustle and bustle and so, he hit the bar. Because Hiruma was a lawless bastard, he didn't order anything fancy like some kind of a fruity drink, but he got straight to the hard –hitting liquor. After some five or six Martinis, he was pleasantly buzzed, enough to contemplate the… teen that was sitting beside him, a good partner for a conversation.

"What'cha celebratin' Green Eyes?" he asked his … soon to be acquaintance, grinning a toothy grin. The addressed teen blinked back, smiling small, dopey smile. "Victory'n freedom." His voice was a pleasant sound, even if a little bit scratchy. Hiruma nodded. "That's always a good reason to celebrate." He offered sagely.

Chuckling, his … drinking. buddy nodded as they clinked their glasses together. "And you? Why are you gettin' buzzed?" His accent was British, Hiruma noticed. And if that hadn't ratted him out, the man was speaking true blue Queen's English. Nobody was more uptight about their mother tongue than Brits themselves. "Yeah. We managed to do the Death March," He explained candidly. "Two thousand kilometers from Texas to Las Vegas here."

Green eyes whistled, impressed. For some reason, the awe in those verdant orbs pleasantly stroked Hiruma's ego, as he puffed out his chest slightly. "Wow. But why did you do this?" Green eyes inquired curiously.

And Hiruma launched into the explanation of his beloved sport. Harry, as Hiruma found out his drink-buddy was called, listened to him attentively, asked some intelligent questions, thought he refused to comment about his little remark about Quidditch. Three shots later, they moved from basic topics to more personal ones. Likes, dislikes and so on. To both of their surprise, they were surprisingly comfortable with the level of intimacy they uncovered to each other.

"An' why don't you have a girlfriend yet?" Harry asked, honestly curious about the blonde devil's answer. "That manager of yours – "

"Che." Hiruma scoffed, waving the possibility off dismissively. "Let's just say we don't click good together. And her over protectiveness over the fucking chibi… Can you imagine her nattering about her _'poor Sena-kun' _if we were a couple?"

Harry grimaced at the imagined situation. "Exactly, "Hiruma told him solemnly as they both shuddered at the implications of that particular disastrous scene.

"Nh." Harry grunted as he emptied another shot, not heeding Hiruma's calculating gaze on his person.

Harry wasn't tall – if anything, he was a few inches smaller than Hiruma himself, and more fragile looking, like Sena. His hair was black tousled mass of unruly bangs, he was pale and had some still-healing cuts on his face, along with a scratch or two. The wounds gave him a feral outlook, but nothing extremely badass. Green eyes behind silver square-rimmed glasses were dark and shadowed with maturity, much like a fucking old man's ones, but still held a hint of playfulness and intelligence that drew Hiruma in like moth to flame.

"And you?" Hiruma volleyed back, one eyebrow arched in askance.

Harry snorted. "Had a girlfriend. Didn't work out." He answered cryptically, making Hiruma even more curious. "Hoo? Did she kiss that bad?" he asked, grinning teasingly. Something had unclenched in his gut as he took in Harry's incredulous gaze.

"You're being awfully nosy here, Hiru-tan," Harry deadpanned dryly. Hiruma grinned wolfishly at the small rebuke. "Tell me, have you ever been kissed?" Harry shot the question back at Hiruma.

Well, shit. Hiruma clamped his mouth shut, glaring at his now-grinning adversary half-heartedly.

His silence was telling.

Harry's eyes widened incredulously. "Oh my gosh – you are a kissing virgin-_mmph!"_ Hiruma slapped his hand on that all too sexy, smartass and provocative mouth quickly. Something in his spine tingled at the feeling of those soft, chapped lips against his palm.

A wet tongue tickled his skin, and he jerked the hand away. "Eww. Germs."He grimaced as Harry chuckled with mirth.

"And you…. Not. A. Word." He warned the bartender threateningly, all fangs bared, making the man quickly nod his assent.

Harry coughed with amusement, drawing Hiruma's attention back to himself. "So… You waiting for Miss Right or what?" He teased anyway, disregarding Hiruma's dangerously narrowed eyes.

"Okay, hot-shot. If you are so experienced, then why don't you show me how it's done?" he deadpanned, making Harry gape with the… proposed solution.

"Well-err, I, uh, I – " Harry stammered, green eyes wide and kind of panicked as Hiruma took the chance and boldly planted one on him.

They froze. Green eyes stared into jade ones, both pairs wide with surprise and unfamiliar feelings.

It was just a touch of lips, nothing more. Then Harry jerked back, missing the slightly hurt look in Hiruma's eyes. "Whoa, wait – why did I have to pop your kissing cherry?" The bartender spluttered with shock at the direct question, but Hiruma was unfazed.

"'Coz I was curious." Hiruma smirked smugly. It was now Harry's turn to sputter. "Wha – Hey, wait a sec-_mmph!_" With no small amount of delight, Hiruma came back for seconds.

From then on, it just kind of snowballed down to hell. Even if Hiruma was clumsy at the beginning, he learned quickly, and in almost no time flat, he was bold enough to dare to attempt tangling their tongues together.

It was warm, wet and tasting of vodka and martini, making their already pleasant buzz even stronger.

Now he knew, Hiruma thought hazily, just why was fucking dreads so obsessed with frenching his one-nighters. It was definitely nice. Nicer than nice, actually. _Hmmm…._

Finally, they parted, panting for air as they looked at each other with dazed hunger.

"You lied, "Harry accused him, panting and making Hiruma grin smugly at his flushed face.

"Nah. I'm just one hell of a learner," Hiruma leered back, his grin even toothier than before. Throwing the bartender a wad of money, he grabbed still dazed Harry by waist and yanked him toward the exit.

"Oy, where are you draggin' me?" His partner in crime complained peevishly, as he petulantly glared at him.

Hiruma quirked an eyebrow. "To marriage office, where else?"

* * *

Harry gaped at first, his brain failing to comprehend the sheer magnitude of the idiocy of said statement right away. But Hiruma already yanked him again, steering them through the hustle and bustle of Vegas night a little clumsily – they were both sloshed, of course, but still, his intentions were clear.

"Hey, listen, we don't - we don't know each other!" Harry tried to protest, but when Hiruma whirled him around and planted a scorching hot smooch on his lips, all rational reasons about why they shouldn't have been doing that, flew out of the proverbial window.

"Hmm... Any other complaints?" The bleached devil purred out, extremely satisfied with this newfound method of silencing the protests of his soon-to-be spouse. Harry shook his head mutely**;** his gaze glazed with desire, making Hiruma wonder just how would his prey look like on the bed sheets of his hotel room.

* * *

Hiruma whimpered pitifully as he massaged his temples. He had hoped he had been conned into this marriage farce, but to find out that the entire thing was actually his idea...

Clenching his left fist, he acutely felt the shape and weight of the ring that officially proclaimed him as _Taken Off The Dating Market._

The water sluiced down his body when he heard a horrified yelp from bedroom. Hiruma groaned, pressing his forehead to the bathroom tiles, and closing his eyes.

It seemed that his… _'husband'_… was awake.

* * *

The life and times of one Harry James Potter couldn't be described as dull in any way, shape or form. Even if he seemed to be a normal teenager - even if a slightly malnourished and skittish one – he was anything but.

Well, surviving one Dark Lord Voldepants at the tender age of one tended to do that to a man. And let's not forget his numerous adventures in his school. First year – philosopher's Stone. Second – one giant Basilisk. Third – Dementors. Fourth – that bloody Triwizard Tournament and the rebirth of said Voldiethongs. Fifth – prophecy. Sixth – the hunt after Horcruxes.

Just in case, if you are wondering, our Harry-boy is a wizard. A true blue one, flying on a broom, brewing potions and using a wand one. But right now, that is not important.

You see, Harry had taken a sabbatical from the craziness that called itself Wizarding World. And what better way to flee from it to Muggle World – and not only that, but hide in Las Vegas?

Nobody would have thought to search for him there - after all, he was known to be a goody two shoes, a good boy that could do no wrong. So it would be preposterous to just think about him being in the Sin City itself.

Hermione would have had a heart attack at the mere thought of it.

But back to the crux of the matter.

His head was pounding. Who told those evil little trolls they were allowed to use his brain as their anvil, anyway? And most importantly, where had the rum gone? Vodka? Whatever.

Whimpering pitifully, Harry tried to roll himself on his back.

Key word._ Tried._ His butt was feeling as if someone poked it's innards with white-hot iron stick. Well, at least the sheets were cool and silky underneath his naked skin.

He was trying to relax, but the…'naked' part was bugging him something fierce.

Since when did he sleep commando?

Blearily, he blinked… and promptly wished he hadn't opened his eyes.

Here on his right hand on his ring finger sat… yep, you guessed, it, a ring.

Okay. Get back. Rewind. Shakily, Harry slowly inhaled a breath.

The air in the room was stale, smelling of sex and alcohol, with some kind of a ritzy incense that was typical for rich hotels.

Well. Fact one – he definitely wasn't in his room. No way, no how.

The scents, plus him being naked, add in his aching butt…

He definitely had sex. And not with female.

_Good job, Harry. You deserve a cookie. _

Blinking dumbly, he narrowed his eyes in deep thought.

Just where were his glasses?

He belatedly remembered someone taking them off… blonde hair, sharp teeth…

And suddenly, he was much more aware of various love-bites on his person. His eyes glazed as he tried to remember the happenings of that last night.

* * *

He was in that bar, _Red Horse_, drinking his vodka in memory of Sirius, when someone called him. "What'cha celebratin' Green Eyes?" the voice was sharp and sinister, all angles like **its** owner. Who was, at the moment, sporting a shit-eating grin on his pale face and a challenging light in jade colored eyes, as he was toying with his glass of Martini.

Not knowing why, he smiled back pleasantly . "Victory'n freedom." His voice purred out, and if Harry had some more faculties with him, he would've been horrified at his - kind of flirty – behavior.

But right then, he was buzzed and he didn't care. The blond grinned at him some more. "That's always a good reason to celebrate."

From then on, they struck an amiable conversation, ranging from American football to their personal preferences.

And of course, they just couldn't avoid the subject of dating. Before they knew it, they talked about kissing. Himera – no, Hiruma. Yes. That was the blonds' name. To Harry's great amusement, he was a kissing virgin. However, the joke was on Harry. Even if Hiruma was a kissing virgin at first, he didn't hesitate to plant one on Harry's lips.

And… the kiss was nice. Very nice. Nothing wet or slimy or disgusting. A simple touch of lips. Yet it sent shivers down his spine.

But Hiruma didn't stop here. When Harry was still spluttering about Hiruma's attack of… curiosity, the blond devil moved in for a kill. His lips covered Harry's in a decidedly ravenous way Harry wasn't quite sure he wanted to protest against. As Hiruma's tongue tickled his lips open to sneak into Harry's mouth, Harry was definitely dazed. _'Why did I protest against this again…?'_

Hiruma's taste was… wicked. Martini and something decidedly like the blond devil, something that Harry was all too curious and happy to sample.

The taste of fire and brimstone - if Hell tasted like that, Harry wasn't sure if he wanted to go to Heaven anymore. Hiruma's scent was of fire and gunpowder with kind of football-y nuance thrown in, along with an undercurrent note of sweat and warmth.

"You lied." He accused the blond devil as they parted from each other in order to gulp down some air in their breath – starved lungs.

Hiruma grinned dangerously, but with a child-like glee in his eyes. "Nah. I'm just one hell of a learner."

The next thing Harry knew was Hiruma throwing the bartender a fat wad of money and then, they were off.

"Oy, where are you draggin' me?" the wizard complained, still flushed from the latest snog session.

The answer he got floored him.

"To marriage office, where else?"

* * *

Green eyes widened to a saucer-like proportions as Harry loudly yelped with horror.

Belatedly, he heard the shower shut down, but he was too shocked to pay any attention to whatever was happening outside of his little revelation.

He tried to take off the offending band.

No such luck. The band was simple – platinum and tungsten entwined in a frail design of Celtic knots. The entire work was so delicate that Harry's stomach immediately dropped with dismay.

This… was no Muggle work.

Dread settled in his stomach. If the rings weren't Muggle, there existed a high chance that they were not only married, but… Gulp… _Bonded._

Meaning, stuck together for eternity, with no divorce anywhere in sight.

Happy heard the bathroom door open, but he didn't deign to roll around to look at his husband.

He was still stumped with the latest revelation.

"We are married. " His voice was flat with disbelief.

He heard a shuffle and his - their – bed dipped slightly under his husband's weight.

"Uh… Yeah." Hiruma's voice was a little subdued.

"We are married." Harry repeated, still staring at the ring that mockingly gleamed in the dull light.

Slowly, Harry craned his head around to take his first sober look at his new husband.

"And you didn't even propose to me." He deadpanned, making Hiruma's jaw slacken with disbelief.

"Well, I didn't hear you protest either, fucking greenie," Hiruma shot back, his eyes still a little wide with Harry's remark.

Harry's eyebrow twitched with irritation.

"I blame your kisses," He bit back sharply, flushing at Hiruma's devilish grin.

Hiruma's body was tall and almost rail thin, but he was deceptively strong, as he had proved with carrying Harry through the threshold and into the room. His skin was smooth and pale, reminding Harry of a vampire, even if his teeth disproved of that little theory. His fingers were spindly, and nails likened to miniature claws. His face was narrow, with sharp lines that were accentuated with elf-like ears and spiky mane of blonde hair.

His eyes were unusual jade without pupils, their color enhanced with thick black lashes and if Harry hadn't known any better, he would've thought that Hiruma was blind as a bat. Right now, the same eyes were glowing with predatory light that made him shudder with… dread? Anticipation?

Well, whatever it was, it made his cheeks nicely flushed with heat.

"So you definitely approve," Hiruma's voice was silky, low sensual purr of delight.

Harry gulped.

Oh crap.

His eyes zeroed onto the white towel around Hiruma's slender hips without thought, as he inhaled the clean scent of his devil of a husband as he remembered their…wedding night.

* * *

By some pure dumb luck, they managed to stumble into an American football themed marriage office. Harry would've protested weakly, because the entire thing was as gaudy as it could be, if it weren't for colors.

"Ooh… Shiny." Harry cooed in awe of red and gold banners with black accents. Dimly he heard Hiruma chuckling at his childish delight as he tried to touch the lion's emblem that was emblazoned over the crimson expanse of the cloth.

He flushed as Hiruma squeezed his waist possessively, and nuzzled the back of his neck. "Hm. You smell nice, "The blond devil hummed to him, making him giggle with drunken delight. "R– Really?" Harry asked shyly, as he relished his soon-to-be husband's embrace. Normally Harry wouldn't have been such a cuddle bug, but he was high on victory, freedom and drunk to Hell and back, and it was nice to be wanted and appreciated for something else than him being the Boy-Who-Won.

And the kisses were nice…. They were awesome.

"So you came in this holy place to make a pact before God of football and touchdowns," The voice behind them boomed loudly.

Harry almost jumped out if his skin, and Hiruma pointed his faithful rifle at the pastor lightning fast and releasing some bullets, making the man yelp and dance in an attempt to avoid the shower of missiles aimed at his feet.

"Where the fuck were you dawdling, fucking official?" he snarled out, his pissed voice making Harry all hot and bothered for some reason.

"Uh, well… I was praying to the God of football and touchdowns!" the man yelped out, still avoiding the bullets nimbly.

Suddenly, Hiruma stopped the hail. "Just marry us, fucking running back."

The man blinked owlishly. "How did you know?" He asked, baffled.

Hiruma smirked. "Footwork."

* * *

Ten minutes later, they were standing in front of the marriage official, clad in black and white jerseys – Hiruma's was black with number 01 in white, while Harry's was white with black number 13. Hiruma's eyebrow quirked at Harry's choice of number, but Harry just smirked cheekily, making Hiruma huff with amusement.

The official cleared his throat and began: "Almighty God of football and touchdowns, those two young men stand in front of you tonight, for you to witness their promises to each other. "

Harry wanted to giggle at the priest's choice of words, but chose to keep his mouth shut. After all, it wouldn't do to be disrespectful at his own wedding, would it?

The priest coughed. "Now you – " He motioned to the blond devil, eyeing the rifle against Hiruma's tight cautiously.

"Hiruma Youichi." Hiruma generously told his name to the priest, grinning.

"Do you, Hiruma Youichi, promise to – " Harry snorted "Harry James Potter." He offered, smiling a sardonic smile, as Hiruma blinked with confusion, neither of them noticing the priest 's wide eyes.

"Well – Ahem, Harry James Potter to always be on the same team, to play with each other fairly, to rejoice in touchdowns you will win together, to keep each other through the losses? Do you promise that you will be his safety, running back, quarterback, tight end – " Harry had to choke down a guffaw at this one – " – and linebacker in good and bad, in health and sickness, all days of this match, called life?"

"Yeah, I do." Hiruma replied, smiling a wicked smirk at blushing Harry, but not releasing the hold of Harry's hand.

Nodding, the priest then turned to Harry. "Do you, Harry James potter, promise to Hiruma Youichi to always be on the same team, to play with each other fairly, to rejoice in touchdowns you will win together, to keep each other through the losses? Do you promise that you will be his safety, running back, quarterback, tight end – " Hiruma leered at that word, making Harry blush and pout. - " – and linebacker in good and bad, in health and sickness, all days of this match, called life?"

Blinking dreamily, Harry grinned. "Yes, I do."

Nodding, the priest smiled at the pair warmly. "So mote it be, may you live in interesting times. With powers that were vested unto me, by state and God of football and touchdowns, I proclaim you married and bonded. You may kiss the spouse," He directed Hiruma, who grinned toothily and took full advantage of his new privilege.

In their little snog-fest, neither of them noticed the old man muttering something under his breath as the gentle golden glow enveloped the duo.

Coughing politely, the priest looked at the two newlyweds with fond annoyance. "Gentlemen… Your rings, if you will. "

Both of them parted with a groan of dismay.

"Do we _have _to?" Hiruma uncharacteristically whined, his eyes glued to the just-ravished lips of his spouse.

Harry sighed. "Yeah. So…?" He tilted his head on side, like an adorable pup, prompting Hiruma to peck him on the nose.

Hiruma went first, grabbing the offered band carelessly, as he swiftly put it on Harry's ring finger. "Mine," he purred softly into Harry's ear, delighting in the minute shiver it produced.

Wordlessly, Harry nodded and then clumsily proceeded to put the other ring on Hiruma's finger. With a little help from his husband, he managed, emitting a small yip of triumph, while Hiruma cackled softly.

The priest nodded. "Almighty God of American football and touchdowns, I present you Youichi Hiruma and Harry Hiruma-Potter, so mote it be!"

And with those final words, the music of '_We Are The Champions'_ began to play, but neither of the young newlyweds noticed, too absorbed in each other.

* * *

Hiruma Youichi, Hell Commander, Demon, Devil, the batshit insane one, as they called him, gazed at the mortified form of his husband.

It really didn't help that his… husband… stared at his towel – covered crotch. Not that Hiruma minded, at any rate. He rather liked the eyeful of naked skin Harry was unconsciously presenting to him right now.

The more time passed by, the more Hiruma liked the idea of them being together . Their… chemistry… was an explosive one, and despite Hiruma not knowing a whit about his spouse – well, outside their little heart-to-heart session – he was willing to ride the wave and take the future as it came. Usually, any sane human would wet their pants with fright in Hiruma's situation. But Hiruma was different. Even hardcore gamblers had a threshold to which they dared to go, but Hiruma's was… shockingly low. If there was even a 0,001 percent chance to win, he'd grab and run with it. Some people would thing that kind of mentality to be slightly… unstable, but it served Hiruma well, because his opponents never knew whether he bluffed or not.

But when he was presented with such delicious dilemma in shape of his… husband, Hiruma just couldn't help himself. Yes, the risks were great. Yes, he was in an unfamiliar territory. Bur for some reason… Hiruma felt compelled to get out of the given situation the best he could

When they had gone through _Death March_, Hiruma didn't even think that it would change his life so decisively.

All it took was one evening, his boredom and a pair of viridian eyes peering up at him from an adorably flushed face.

He smirked as he recalled their wedding night.

* * *

After the ceremony, they changed back to their clothes, only keeping their jerseys as memento of their union. Because they were buzzed enough, and interested in deeper exploration than just tonguing each other's tonsils, their decision to head off to nearest hotel room was unanimous.

They stumbled into the ritzy-looking hotel room, courtesy of using Hiruma's little black book and Harry's glare. Even if Harry was drunk as a skunk, or nearly to that state, he still had '_The Glare' _as his peers termed it. Wizards were not immune- the similarity of those eyes with the light of Killing Curse was unnerving, and Muggles didn't stand a chance.

Humming, Hiruma nuzzled into that delicious looking neck, making Harry giggle in process, before Harry tugged him into the bedroom.

The bedroom was done in dark tones with cream colors and golden hints, but right now, the two newlyweds were more interested in each other.

"Clothes. _Off."_ Hiruma growled into one ear, making his prey squirm deliciously against his body. Harry was thin under those clothes, but undoubtedly toned, making Hiruma's hands itch to explore his body.

The warmth and closeness should have spooked him somewhat – this was his first time after all, but as the fumbled through caresses and trying to yank the annoying garments off their bodies the fastest way they knew to, there was only heat and wonder.

One of Hiruma's hands sneaked under Harry's jersey, making the wizard squeak a little, but Harry obviously took Hiruma's move as some kind of a challenge, and promptly grabbed the blonds' butt, making Hiruma yelp, smirking in amusement, before Hiruma growled and shoved him against the wall. "It's not nice to tease," Hiruma murmured, looking at Harry's smug face. Harry's smirk didn't vanish in the face of the purred-out threat. Instead, it became even bigger.

"Oh ya? And what do you intend to do about that?" Harry volleyed back, making Hiruma's grin widen to devilish proportions.

"This," Hiruma commented, yanking Harry's jersey off, only to leave it tangled within Harry's arms, forcing Harry to hold them above his head if he wanted to see what his devil lover planned next.

Hiruma licked his lips as the slender, lightly scarred chest was exposed to his hungry haze. Harry's skin was pale and slightly flushed with heat, his nipples already contorting into uncomfortable looking pebbles. Said pebbles fascinated Hiruma enough to lower his head and lightly bite the right one, making his partner bit out a curse and arch against him.

"Hiruma, you fucker - !" The accusation was half-hearted at best, as Harry strained to get away, or come closer, he was unsure of it, but whatever made Harry react like that, was a good thing in Hiruma's books.

"Hmmm… Tasty." Hiruma purred as he licked the abused skin, one of his hands holding Harry's haphazardly tied wrists above his head firmly.

Yes, Hiruma had a hold on his prey and he reveled in it.

The desperate growl made him chuckle as he nuzzled a path from the right pectoral to that tempting slender neck, he couldn't help himself but thoroughly mark it, making Harry mewl and curse against him helplessly.

"_Hi-Ru-Ma…"_ The green – eyed man growled out threateningly, making Hiruma's spine tingle at hearing that husky, debauched – sounding voice.

"Yes?" Hiruma asked, acting nonchalant – but only until one of Harry's feet caressed the inner side of his legs, making his mouth dry at the implication of the gesture.

"You're an ass." Harry breathed out, making Hiruma chuckle deviously before they both moaned as their crotches briefly rubbed against each other.

"And proud of it," Hiruma breathed out, as he nuzzled the dark strands of that impossibly messy hair.

"As if that's something – "Harry gasped "To be proud of, bastard," He finished, shivering as Hiruma pressed closer to him, his jade eyes staring into his own viridian ones.

Hiruma just smirked. "In that case, yes."

* * *

Harry stared into that one spot blankly.

It was preposterous.

His brain was running in a loop, presenting the hard evidence that this last night – whatever it had been – was entirely consensual.

Even worse, he had enjoyed it.

'_And why shouldn't you?'_ The rational - or rather, horny - side of his brain snarked at him. _'He's your husband, and it's normal to… enjoy your spouse's… prowess in the bed.'_

Privately, Harry balked at the description. It just didn't add up in his pretty little world. He just wanted to have a little vacation, far, far away from the mad world and its inhabitants, as he rightfully deserved after finishing off the snake menace, but no.

'_Someone up here hates me,'_ He thought glumly. He shouldn't have been married right after his first and only drinking foray but it happened. He should have had his first sexual experience – more than just smooching, anyway – with a woman, but _noo_, he just happened to stumble upon the stupid demon that was virgin at kissing, and lose his… virginity to the said demon also.

And he didn't even get a decent marriage proposal out of the prick, too.

Harry sighed.

That just hadn't been his day-err, night.

He wanted to whimper. Really. However, he had a sneaky suspicion that if he emitted that particular sound, it would be seen as a capitulation from his…. devilish… opponent.

The white spot he was glaring down moved.

Harry blinked.

Wait…. Moved?

…. White spot?

Blinking rapidly, he readjusted his sight…. And blushed spectacularly.

"Kekeke, you sure are very bold, fucking green eyes," Harry jerked at the sound of that demonic voice, flushing even deeper if it was possible.

Yelping with embarrassment, he covered his face with his arm, but in that instant, he froze with horrified realization.

He. Was. Fucking. _Naked._

And that blonde ass of a devil didn't even have the common courtesy to mention that little tidbit to him!

First, he unintentionally behaved as a pervert, ogling other man's crotch as if it were a – an exhibition piece, and then – he was buck naked, like some kind of a hedonist, all for the viewing pleasure of the dick that didn't have the brains to cover him with something!

Oh yeah, his day was already shot to hell.

This time, he didn't even try to contain the whimper that threatened to claw **its** way out of his throat.

He was _so_ doomed.

The bed dipped as Hiruma sat down on the mattress, and Harry could practically feel the smugness rolling off of the bastard. He made no movement to get away – it would be futile, anyway, and he really didn't want to give Hiruma more ammo on him he already had.

Rita Skeeter, eat your little beetle heart out.

"Hey…" He heard Hiruma's voice distantly, as he still wallowed in his misery. "You alright?"

And oh wonder of wonders, the devil had the _galls _to sound _concerned!_

Harry grunted.

"No, I am_ NOT_ alright." He grumbled back. "I am mortified, naked and my ass hurts. So excuse me for behaving like spoiled little bitch."

The devil chuckled.

"Well, if that's all…" Some more shuffling commenced, but Harry didn't care to look.

"Here." A bottle of … something was nudged against his shoulder, making him flinch at the coldness. "C'mon, open your eyes," Hiruma cajoled, tempting Harry with the promise of fresh, cool liquid.

After a moment of debating with his inner voice, Harry decided his pride had suffered enough to bend down a little more and take it up its proverbial tush, and he moved his arm with which he shielded his face in an attempt to futilely held away the traitorous blush.

He was rewarded with a sight of bottle water and a Tylenol pill, which he promptly snatched out of Hiruma's hands.

He then rolled on his hip, shuffling awkwardly, and proceeded to gulp the gift of gods down his throat.

It was pure heaven.

He sighed blissfully, as he emptied half the bottle in one go – man, the sex business was tiring. If Voldeshorts got some nookie time when he was younger, Harry was sure he wouldn't have been such a tight-ass about blood purity'n all, and the wizarding quacks would live their happily ever after.

Harry blinked blearily.

_Well, ain't that a food for thought._

But dealing with little Voldies… nah. Although… the image of Death Crunchers trying to deal with Voldiegarten….

Harry was just glad Wizarding world didn't know the wonders of cellular reproductions and cloning.

Hallelujah for Muggle world. Sometimes it was just wonderfully convenient to be thought as an inferior kind of human species.

Blinking, his eyes zeroed back on the other occupant of his bed.

"You are my hero," He said to Hiruma dryly, before promptly choking when he saw just what the man was wearing.

Nothing.

_Nada._

The damned devil went commando.

And the said devil had the galls to grin at him. "What? With both of us naked you don't have the excuse of being naked anymore."

"Mortification is still an option," Harry answered dryly, making Hiruma cackle softly.

"But really – are you alright?" Hiruma asked softly, jade eyes glinting with… was that concern?

Harry sighed. "As much as I can be, what with me being married and all," he agreed dryly, trying to keep his eyes above Hiruma's belt.

They stared at each other, green eyes boring into jade colored ones, Harry had a feeling Hiruma was reading him like a book.

A moment later, Hiruma shuffled closed. "Budge over," The blonde grumbled as Harry looked at him with his eyes a mite bit wider.

Sighing, Harry complied. He flinched a little when he felt another warm, naked body press against his skin, still a little uncomfortable at the… intimacy of the gesture.

It was disconcerting, for him to allow so much… touching so soon. In all rights, he should have been jumpy like long-tailed cat in the room full of rocking chairs. But watching the teen snuggle against him, his face serious and jade eyes a little bit softer, even if Harry was still a little bit freaked out as Hiruma didn't have any pupils – only jade colored cornea, making him see as if he were blind.

Weird eye impairments aside, Hiruma was gentle, even if a little bit rough unintentionally sometimes. Harry was reminded of a feline that occasionally pricked it's owner - excuse me, human, with its claws to assert the ownership.

Hiruma was thin, almost to the point of being skinny, and with his limbs, his movements should have been awkward. But it was not so, Harry marveled, as his new husband cuddled up to him almost carefully, their gazes still firmly held together, even as Hiruma tugged the coverlet over their forms.

"I want us to stay together." Hiruma murmured out, his gaze strangely vulnerable at Harry's gasp at his proclamation.

The meaning of those five simple words echoed in Harry's brain, triggering another flashback of the last night.

* * *

The clothes were off as they moved to the bed. Harry barely had the time to appreciate the silk sheets and the color scheme - well, not the color scheme, but silk against his skin, was a good study of contrasts of cool fabric versus their own heated skins.

He gasped as Hiruma found his nipple, worrying it a little with his shark teeth, and it felt bloody fantastic, even if it was weird at first, but when Hiruma bit harder, it sent Harry's senses spinning with pleasure.

"_Hoo?_ A closet masochist?" Hiruma drawled out smugly, his voice husky, making Harry huff with embarrassment and arousal. "You are taking advantage of me." Harry complained half – heartedly, as he restlessly shifted under Hiruma's body, making them both hiss at the contact of their lower halves.

It was warm, weird and…

_Indecent._

Harry never would have thought he would be rubbing his bits alongside the bits of the other bloke, but right then, it seemed the most brilliant idea ever, and well, it wasn't as if either of them could get pregnant.

He shivered as he tried to shift so he could reach the maximum pleasure, but not the mind – blowing one… Not yet.

His member strained, and it was a sensation of that… rigidity and softness that drove him onward, as he clung to Hiruma, not knowing what to do next.

Luckily, Hiruma did. Soft, chapped lips touched his, and a clever tongue teased his mouth open, all that for wicked tongue playing with his, mixing their breaths, tastes and saliva, and it should have been gross, like that one kiss with Cho, but Harry only had to sweep over those wickedly sharp teeth to know that this was not Cho or Ginny or whoever else, his head jerking a little when he nicked the tip of his tongue on one of those fangs.

Hiruma murmured in protest as his attempted retreat, sucking his tongue in, laving the tiny little wound, flavoring their kiss with iron and something intangible that reminded Harry of life.

Hiruma's tongue was raspy, like cats and it rubbed against Harry's delightfully, exploring Harry's mouth thoroughly, just like Harry did to Hiruma's mouth a few moments ago.

For a beginner, Hiruma was dominating the kiss with an assurance borne of gambling, and Harry followed him, attempting to wrestle control back here and there, but he was otherwise too preoccupied with moans and groans he emitted in the wake of pleasure.

Hiruma's hands slid across his skin, searching, playing and tracing the lines. He seemed to be especially fascinated with Harry's scars, but Harry distracted him with rolling them over and sitting on him, making both of them gasp and curse at the new sensations that sparked at the contact.

"Damn it, green eyes…" Hiruma's voice was breathy and scratcher than before, making Harry want to smirk at the unhinged look in his partner's eyes. "You sure you haven't done it before?"

"Pretty much," Harry groaned back as he rutted against the bulge beneath his ass, his hands splayed wide on thin, but muscled chest below him.

"Ya hafta be cheatin' then," Hiruma grunted, as Harry punished him with a particularly vicious thrust of his pelvis, making Hiruma clench the hands on Harry's hips almost to the point of pain.

Harry punished him with a stinging bite on the neck, making him yowl with pain.

* * *

Hiruma stared at the youth beside him silently. He never felt as bare as he had in those moments after proclamation.

He was used to bluffing, boasting and outright declarations, but he wasn't used to saying those three overly-sugared words to anyone. Sure, he liked his team, and he had began, to some extent, to trust them….but only time will show whether his trust was misplaced or not. But with them being so enthused to go to Christmas Bowl…it was a no brainer.

However, this… This was something else. It took only one night, and as fucking greenie pointed out, he didn't even propose – and they got hitched – irrevocably – in some garishly decorated Las Vegas chapel with some fucking hippie running back as their marriage official.

Yet, even if he had been stumped at first when he comprehended the enormity of the situation – it wasn't any day he decided to tie a knot – something compelled him to… request... _that._

He may have purposefully displayed the view of weaknesses to his opponents, but even he wasn't so dumb as to purposefully bare his true feelings to show his some stranger he had only met the night – or evening before.

He was taking a frightfully risky gamble – even for him.

But something in those jeweled green eyes….

Something tugged at him, and even if he didn't know anything about love – he had never been in love before, and he had a feeling that his… spouse hadn't been, either – that something nudged him straight off the proverbial cliff, with no safety net under him.

Usually, he would have relied on statistics and numbers.

This time, he irrationally trusted his gut.

How… Annoying.

One slender eyebrow twitched.

* * *

Harry gaped at the blond devil that was currently cuddling him.

'_He's – he's serious!'_ His shocked brain translated Hiruma-gabble into appropriate meaning. The green eyed wizard was thrown in for a loop. He didn't expect of his… captor to be so – mature about their predicament. Sure, Hiruma was one sadistic son of a bitch, as had been evidenced last night, what with his restless teasing and taunting of Harry until usually reserved wizard practically demanded to be fucked within an inch of his life… which Hiruma gladly obliged to do.

He watched as Hiruma's eyebrow twitched, those jade eyes narrowing with irritation. His own face was blank with shock still. He knew that magical bondings were irreversible, but Hiruma –

"Are you sure?" He asked the pointy – eared teen quietly. "We are still young and you could find someone – "

Hiruma's left ear twitched. It was just a minute movement that most of people wouldn't notice, but Harry wasn't the youngest Seeker in the century for nothing. "Che. What's with you and your martyr complex, fucking greenie?" Hiruma asked as he tugged one of the longer locks of that dark hair, making Harry yelp with indignation. "Hey!"

Green eyes narrowed. "And who says I have martyr complex, anyway?" He demanded, peeved that Hiruma could read him so accurately.

Hiruma snorted. "It's written all over your fucking face, fucking greenie." He answered flippantly, intentionally showing off his shark teeth to his annoyed partner, who promptly whacked him on the face with a small pillow, making him yelp with surprise at his action.

"Twit," Harry insulted him dryly, content as the medicine finally dulled the twanging pain in his posterior. However, his spine chilled at rather predatory gleam in his husband's eyes.

"Join the Deimon Devilbats, _YA- HA_!" The devilish blond cackled happily, making Harry rather wary and confused.

'_Is that some new brand of fan girls I didn't know about?'_ Harry mentally asked himself, as he tried to squirm away from the nutso.

"Uh… I'd rather not." Harry mumbled out, mouthing out a silent curse as his attempt at fleeing his new husband was thwarted rather efficiently. "Besides, I am not interested in participating in any cult – "

Hiruma choked.

"_Cult?"_ He repeated the offensive word rather… incredulously. "You think I would invite you to a…. cult?" Harry blinked, confused. "You're not?" He asked meekly.

"Kekeke, of course not, fucking greenie," Hiruma grinned with savage delight, scenting his prey was weakening. "It's American Football!"

Harry groaned out miserably. "Just my fucking luck," He complained sourly, as he allowed his head thump down on the pillow. And indeed, it was just his fucking luck, as he had termed it. Only Harry was somehow capable to unintentionally find a sports maniac of one of the most dangerous sports known to the mankind and wed him in one breath.

And they said Quidditch was dangerous for one's health.

* * *

Hiruma was happy. Wait, no, he was fucking ecstatic. Harry's miserable grumble didn't dissuade him from his enthusiasm. The fucking greenie had even faster reflexes than the fucking dreads, and that was saying something! Of course, he would have to…_ convince_ his fucking husband to participate, but that shouldn't be too hard, right?

He nuzzled the exposed throat lightly, hiding his smirk as he remembered the passionate side of his new partner.

Hell, yeah, he had hit a jackpot.

Closing his eyes, his heart gave a jolt at the memories…

* * *

"Fu – cking greenie!" Hiruma hissed, as he felt the sting on his throat, his hips jolting up without his consent. Then, he grinned a rather terrifying grin. "So… you wanna play rough, eh?"

Harry grinned challengingly down on him, his lips bloodied with the small amount of crimson liquid he managed to sample in his pursuit to teach Hiruma a lesson.

His nails dug into the skin of Harry's hips, making him hiss and green eyes flashing in challenge.

Hiruma may not be as fast as Harry, but he was stronger and he definitely knew how to get on top.

Skating the palms of his hands alongside the soft skin, dragging them up slowly and sensually, making Harry whimper with need, until he beckoned Harry to sit on his stomach. His member of course protested at the loss if the warmth and friction, but Hiruma was patient.

All in good time, of course.

His hands travelled up, switching from sides to stomach, gliding over pectorals until they clutched slender shoulders firmly as he yanked Harry down on his chest, nipping the exposed column of that slender, pale throat teasingly, while with his left hand, he embraced the slender waist, and his right sneakily probed the tempting crack, making his prey whine at the contact.

Hiruma may have not been experienced himself, but he knew enough about such things – he had learned from American soldiers a great deal more than just gambling and American football – he just didn't think that the lessons of more intimate nature would be used so soon, or in such a way.

He looked at the fucking greenie's face – flushed, as if he had a fever, and dotted with sweat, green eyes darkened with passion and slightly unfocused due to the lack of glasses.

He was the sexiest damned thing Hiruma had ever seen in his relatively short life.

And what was better, he was his.

Harry made an uncomfortable noise, prompting Hiruma to retreat his wandering hand regretfully, before he squeezed the plump cheek, prompting his partner to hiss through his teeth like annoyed cat.

"You're gotta be shittin' me," The green – eyed youth grumbled, as he tried to slink away from the rather inappropriate touch.

" I shit you not," Hiruma answered dryly, as he grabbed his husband's member, making him yowl with onslaught of new, more intense feelings. " But I will pop your fucking cherry, got it?"

_"NNh - !"_ Harry's protest was lost as he arched against that hand which gave him such deliciously feeling pleasure. "It's not season for – cherries," He panted out, making Hiruma snicker rather evilly at his feigned ignorance.

Hiruma had deemed his hand and fingers to be wet enough with Harry's juices to be of use, so he pulled Harry down on his chest, then swiftly rolling around, disregarding Harry's exclamation of surprise and protest.

Quickly, he clambered on his knees, slinking between Harry's thighs, as he lifted Harry's legs on his shoulders. His new husband was stunned and inebriated enough to allow him to execute that particular trick with minimal resistance on his part.

"Hey – " Harry tried to say something, but his eyes widened with pleasure and shock as Hiruma double – teamed him – one hand on his member, and another to twist behind the balls in search of his backdoor entrance.

Hiruma himself wasn't unaffected as he was showing himself to be. His skin was heated and damp with sweat, and his hair was even messier than usual, the spikes a little droopy with moisture. He panted, gulping and exhaling the air in a hurried, uneven tempo that betrayed his excitement clearly enough. He shifted uncomfortably, clearly wanting to blow his load, but not before he claimed his fucking greenie in all the ways there were.

Slender fingers gilded easily enough behind the sternum, making Harry emit a small scream, when they bypassed it, and starting to poke and tease the hidden entrance behind.

"Hiruma – _oh_ – "Harry was beyond words, squirming with delight and trying to come closer to his tormentor and pleasure giver at the same time.

"Ch – " Hiruma chuffed with effort, but then, the fucking greenie's hands yanked his hair painfully, making his jade eyes narrow as he growled threateningly. "_Ow!_ What the _hell,_ fucking greenie! That hurt!" He snapped out, peeved.

"Something _else_ of yours will hurt too, if you don't hurry up and get me off!" He got equally snappy reply back that made his jaw slack temporarily with the surprise, before he grinned.

"Hell yeah. Let's do it." He responded cheerfully, making Harry look at him with wariness.

Hiruma grinned.

'_Too late, fucking greenie.'_

* * *

Harry should have known that threatening Hiruma wasn't the best approach to getting what he wanted, but he couldn't have known that. However, he found this little tidbit of information the fast way.

Blinking away the sweat that threatened to get in his eyes, feeling a small sting, he was bent practically halfway on that king – sized bed, with his knees on Hiruma's thin shoulders, and pretty sure he was offering the demon a nice display of his junk, not that he cared – the pleasure was well worth it, in any case.

He made a sound when those delightful fingers exited – and he would never, ever, not under any circumstances, admitted that this little sound was a mewl of disappointment - and then, his eyes grew large with shock as he felt something thicker trying to push in.

It was thick and warm and insistent – and Harry gasped with pain, as his eyes teared with the overwhelming sensation. The only experience he had with getting things in or out, was taking care of relieving business and washing the now violated area. Of course, he was curious, and tried to discover more, but it was different from his fingers – bigger, certainly, and more painful.

"Relax, fucking greenie," Hiruma huffed into his ear, as Harry gasped with a new wave of pain. It felt as if he was being torn in half and he wondered just why he was stupid enough to try that.

Oh, right.

He was _married._

He huffed, rolling his eyes. "You try to relax when you have a pole riding up your ass!" He snapped, peeved, his voice strangled with effort. "Ye Gods I am so happy I am not a fucking girl right now…" He lamented, imaging the horror the female half of species got through, what with popping their cherries and birthing kids.

Hiruma cackled. "Kekeke… You got that right, fucking green eyes." And with that, he didn't give Harry time to retort with a scathing tirade, but shoved in, making Harry yelp like a wounded dog.

Harry 's eyes widened. "WHAT THE _HELL _IS WRONG WITH YOU, YOU BASTARD-!" He hollered as the pain speared through him. Fingers twitching, he aimed at Hiruma's scrawny neck, intent on imitating the black widow thoroughly. Ergo, permanently offing the sadistic bleach-haired demon on top of him.

Jade eyes widened, and Hiruma missed the claws for a hair width. "Whoa. Calm down, the hardest part is over with now."

If he had thought that would pacify Harry, he was sorely mistaken. His fear of the slender firecracker beneath him temporarily stopped him from thoroughly enjoying the pleasure of being within his lover.

Better be safe than sorry, after all.

Harry growled as he opened his mouth to berate Hiruma loudly, when he was being kissed out of his wits. Whimpering with annoyance, he tried to fight back, but kisses were too good of a distraction – and when his body gave a jolt of pleasure as his member was stimulated again, his defense was shot to hell. A careful nibble on his neck, and he sighed.

Well, Hiruma won a battle.

'_But,'_ Harry thought sourly, _'I will win a war.'_

* * *

He didn't win a war, Harry reflected glumly. Simply put, Hiruma came, saw and conquered, not necessarily in that working order.

However, Harry had to admit that pleasure was mind blowing, even if the… aftermath… was less than pleasant. Harry supposed it would get easier with practice –

Wait. _Practice? _As in, allowing the demon sticking him up on his meat stick again?

First time was hard enough, thank you very much.

But really, aside from his ass being skewered, it was… alright. Although that didn't mean he would let the bastard anywhere near his posterior for a long, long time. And he would hex the demon if he tried to persuade him, the Secrecy Act be damned. Nothing was more important than sanctity of his behind, thank you very much!

He sighed as he laid back on the mattress. In a matter of hours, his life had done a complete turnaround. He came to Las Vegas, checked into the hotel, got a sightseeing tour and ambled into the bar to get piss drunk in memory of his dogfather – and yes, he deserved booze too, what with him pulling one off over the Dark Idiot and successful tactical retreat from Wizarding world. As they said – old enough to kill, old enough to get drunk on hard liquor and definitely old enough to have wild sex with some random stranger.

Only, Harry's strange brand of luck turned up again, and he ended not only with mother of all hangovers, but married to a complete stranger, with no possibility of divorce.

"So, what now?" He murmured out, his eyes half-lidded as he stared at the creamy-colored ceiling, feeling Hiruma's warm breath against his neck, as the strands of blond hair tickled his cheeks, as he absentmindedly nuzzled into the fragrant mess.

Three heartbeats later, Hiruma answered him. "We rest. Then, we will have a breakfast or lunch, I don't fucking care." His voice was soft and thoughtful. Humming in approval, Harry nodded. "And after that?" He inquired lazily, his voice muzzy with sleepiness.

He got a soft kiss as an answer. "Nah, you won't find out everything just yet, fucking green eyes," Hiruma smirked at him, trying to rile him up, but Harry only frowned instead of scowling. "But I can tell you one thing – we will be together."

Harry wasn't sure if he should look forward to their life together, or dread it.

* * *

"Where the hell is Hiruma?" Mamori asked, annoyed as she looked on the wristwatch again. The Devilbats were currently waiting for their errant leader, wondering just where Hiruma had managed to vanish off to. And it wasn't like their erstwhile leader, just leaving them to stew in wait for them.

Add the fact that Hiruma had their passports, and well… they weren't happy.

"M– Maybe he got s-sick?" Sena stuttered out, brown eyes huge as he clutched to his bag.

"Hiruma? _Sick?_" Juumonji scoffed disdainfully. "Che, as if. He's most likely either blackmailing someone or drunk off his skinny arse." Toganou and Kuroki grunted with agreement, while Kurita shook his head. "Uh, no, Hiruma wouldn't have done that…" The chubby lineman protested, but looking at the doubtful faces of his teammates, he gulped. "Or would he?"

"Yaa! Maybe he had met a girl and he married her!" Suzuna piped up cheerfully, making everyone except her brother look at her as if she lost the tiny amount of brain she had, as she twirled on her inline skates, daydreaming.

"Hiruma… Marrying a chick?" Monta asked incredulously. "Unbelievable MAX!" He declared, as he chomped onto the tenth banana in five minutes, pointing a hand with stretched pointer upwards, as he nodded to himself self-importantly.

Mamori sighed with annoyance. But the idea, harebrained as it was… stuck somewhere in the back of her brain.

"Kekeke, gossiping like old ladies about little ole me already, are we?" A very well known voice made the team jump with fright, and one particular running back emit high-pitched scream of fright.

They looked to see their captain – and their jaws dropped.

Hiruma was… positively glowing. The bleached demon was clad in black jeans with similar black T-shirt. He was looking like his usual demonic self, dragging around the gym bag with his clothes, an AK-47 on his shoulder and their flight tickets in other hand. Nothing unusual, right?

Most of the team had known Hiruma long enough that they known his general expression – ire, happiness, deviousness, anger, satisfaction and so on.

But right now, Hiruma seemed… content. And perhaps a little bit smug, too.

"Hiruma…?" Kurita ventured out hesitantly. His friend was in unusually good mood, and Kurita was happy for him, but whenever Hiruma was this happy, something was bound to happen… and Kurita had enough of experience with Hiruma-happenings that he was a little hesitant of Hiruma's good fortune.

Jade eyes cut to the chubby linebacker, but Hiruma wasn't irritated with unvoiced question.

"Hiruma! Where the hell were you last night!" Mamori screeched, making the team flinch back at her voice. Even Monta eyed her incredulously. Surely she wasn't so stupid as to interrogate the Hell Commander?

Mamori marched forward.

Oh yeah, she _definitely_ was suicidal enough.

"In my room, fucking manager," Hiruma answered, his grin widening at her outraged face.

"You were not! I checked – "She abruptly stopped that venue of explanation at the incredulous stares of the team. She blushed as she fiddled with the handle of her bag.

"I swear, Hiruma, you are such a ditz," A voice drawled behind the devil, making the team's eyes bug out at the heinous disrespect of their evil-ish quarterback.

Hiruma turned. "What took you so fucking long, fucking husband?" He asked idly, making the onlookers 'jaws drop with incredulity.

"YOU ARE _MARRIED!_" The three Huh – brothers howled out disbelievingly, while Kurita just choked on air. Sena fainted – luckily, Suzuna managed to catch him.

Jade eyes looked at the shell – shocked team calmly. "Yes. May I present you – " He yanked the smaller teen forward, possessively wrapping one arm around the teen's waist. "Fucking green eyes, Hiruma-Potter Harry .

Whatever they expected, this wasn't it. Harry was a little smaller than Hiruma, slender, with wild shoulder- length black hair and pale, with some half – healed scars on his face, along with his right forearm being wrapped in bandages. He had on slender silver rectangular glasses that enhanced the vivid color of his emerald green eyes. He was clad similarly to Hiruma, but in faded blue jeans trousers and dark green t-shirt that was a little oversized on his body, even if he seemed to be in good physical condition overall. His feet were clad in old ratty sneakers that had undoubtedly seen better times, but their owner still loved them well enough to loath parting with them.

"Hello," The teen greeted softly, smiling at them gently, if not a little self – consciously. "Is he alright?" he asked, motioned to still unconscious Sena. "Uh – Oh, yeah, he's just in shock!" Suzuna stammered, blushing at the kind smile that was bestowed on her.

"Uh… Shouldn't he look like – like – " Ishimaru tried to say, but he motioned helplessly, as he didn't want to offend their hellish captain.

"Ishimaru, wasn't it?" The field – tracker jumped slightly at the question aimed at him. "Y – Yes! Wait, you know my name?" he blurted out, making Hiruma's… husband chuckle good naturedly. "Yes, of course," Ishimaru blushed at the kind smile aimed at him. "Hiruma told me all about you and the team." Hiruma just growled as he glared at the still dazed Ishimaru. "Don't get fucking ideas, fucking ghost. He's fucking _mine_, understand!" Dark eyes widening, Ishimaru yelped at the rebuke "Sir, yes, sir!" As he hastily scuttled to the back as to avoid Hiruma's ire.

"But Hiruma, you are too young!" Mamori finally managed enough voice to protest. Something in her heart twanged at Hiruma's half – glare at her. She was… discontent at the knowledge of the demonic quarterback being married to that – that – person. Not that Harry was bad, but –

"Manager – it's Mamori, isn't it?" Harry interrupted before Hiruma could let loose one of his infamous tirades. Blue eyes looked at the green ones. "Yes. Anezaki Mamori." She bowed, but her usual smile was absent from her face.

Harry nodded. "Both of us are emancipated, Anezaki. " He told her calmly, green eyes dark and old looking. Looking at them, Mamori couldn't help but wonder what had happened to this boy to have such sad eyes. "Thank you for your concern – we appreciate it – _shut it_, Hiruma – "He snapped at Hiruma who wanted to throw in one of his remarks, and had to mutinously hold his piece. "But it was consensual, I can assure you of that." They stared at each other for some moments, before Mamori sighed and nodded. "Oh. Okay. But I didn't know Hiruma had a boyfri– "

"Of course I didn't, fucking manager," Hiruma jumped into the conversation, fangs gleaming. "Oi, is the fucking chibi awake yet?" He clocked a mini Uzi as to wake the running back Hiruma style, making Harry roll his eyes with exasperation. Luckily, Sena was already awake – or semi awake, in that case. Gentle brown eyes widened at the sight of the muzzle of the pistol aimed at him. "_Hiii!_ I'm awake, I'm awake!" He yelped out, jumping up, narrowly dodging the hail of bullets aimed at him.

"He has good reflexes," Harry mentioned idly, making the team edging away from him cautiously.

'_Yeah, Hiruma chose the right one – he's truly devil's bride – erm, husband.'_ The team sweatdropped collectively.

Hiruma just smirked.

Surprisingly, Keroberos was very amiable towards Harry, cementing the Devilbats' belief that Hiruma chose the right person to be married to.

However, they tried not to think about it – it was too traumatic to contemplate.

They just thanked Gods that there would be no little Hirumas running around anytime soon. Truly, the world would be too small for the offspring of the devil and his bride – ahem, husband.

* * *

**Second half of the match, _Deimon Devilbats_ versus _Hakushuu Dinosaurs_**

There was a dead silence as the control tower of Deimon Devilbats fell on the field.

It was… unthinkable.

Hiruma was always so strong, so self-assured that everyone thought that nothing can destroy him.

But – _Gaou…._

The damned beast didn't have any compunction about outright breaking Hiruma's right arm, thus disabling him from messing Hakushuu's advancement.

In that moment, Harry's heart practically froze with dread.

It was just like that time - just like when he had to fight on battlefield.

And to lose Hiruma… Losing him like this –

Unacceptable.

"HIRUMAAAAA!" Kurita's heartbreaking wail cut through the appalled silence.

"There are two wounded persons! Referee, timeout!" Someone's voice rang out through Harry's daze, shaking him out of his memories of blood and death.

Wounded … of course. This was a game.

Just a… game.

Yes, it was just a game. Harry looked at the Mamori and Suzuna numbly – both of the girls were crying uncontrollably, as they hugged each other, as if searching comfort in each other. Duboroku was grim., dark eyes concerned.

Harry stood up.

It was like in some sort of horrible dream.

A nightmare –

His fingers twitched, clenching in a fist.

Verdant eyes narrowed as he looked at the smug captain of Dinosaurs.

This… Was unacceptable.

Marco felt a chill at his back – as if death was staring at him.

Slowly, he turned around to look at the one who was glaring at him so ferociously.

Blazing green eyes stared at him, making him involuntarily flinch and shudder. It was as if he had been judged… and found wanting.

"Well, someone just walked over my grave… I'd say." He muttered to himself, prompting Maria to look at him, and then to the green – eyed man who had slowly walked to the stretcher with Hiruma's body on it.

Almond shaped eyes widened as she recognized the person.

"_Ya think!" _

Reiji Marco had just managed to piss off the strongest wizard of his generation.

Potter Harry was not someone Marco would wish to mess with – and attacking Hiruma was just that.

She shook her head disbelievingly. Even if she was a Squib, she knew.

'_Marco, you fool…'_

* * *

Numbly, Mamori sat in the infirmary, looking at Hiruma's prone body, clutching the letter in her hands.

It was hopeless.

Without Hiruma –

A shadow fell over her, and a warm hand squeezed her shoulder.

"Harry-san?" She asked numbly as she lifted her head to look at the teen.

Blue eyes widened at the sight. Harry-san was grim, green eyes dark, and his face set in hard lines that would be more becoming to a weathered soldier.

His posture was stiff. Mamori gulped.

Harry just wasn't an… ordinary teen, and just now, she felt so tiny and insignificant.

"Thank you for being with him, Mamori." He told her quietly, his voice gentle, but with an undercurrent of command that made her straighten her spine. "Go back – they will need you. I have to speak with him."

"But – " Mamori tried to protest, but she was stopped with a stern glare from those viridian eyes.

Mutely, she nodded. "Hai. Take – Take care of him, please." Standing up, she bowed to the emerald-eyed teen, before slowly walking out of the room.

Harry looked at Hiruma, until he heard the click of the doors closing.

Exhaling an exasperated sigh, he threaded one of his hands through that spiky blonde mane, until he came to the tip of one pointed ear.

He pinched it, making Hiruma yowl with pain.

"Fucking greenie! That _hurt!_" Hiruma snarled, his voice weakened with pain, but still loud enough to make Harry smile with grim relief.

"Hello to you too, bastard," He retorted mildly.

"Now let's see about kicking your stubborn ass back to the field."

Hiruma was speechless.

* * *

The situation was grim.

Although Deimon had scored a touchdown, Dinosaurs managed to clamp down on their offense with iron grip. Even if Kurita had recovered, Sena was too inexperienced, and add the return of Kisaragi to Dinousaurs' side…. And things were looking down for Deimon Devilbats.

Sena's shoulders slumped. The pressure was heavy. To bear the weight of being the control tower of the team, even if just for a short time…

It was like carrying the entire world on his shoulders, and he wondered just how Hiruma was doing it so effortlessly.

Should they…. _Give up?_

"Kekeke, fucking shrimp… What are you idiots doing, straighten up! Or are you going to shit up right in the middle of the field?" The Hiruma-like voice asked, making Sena automatically stiffen his spine and flinch in expectation of some good hail of bullets.

"I - I'm not!" He squeaked out –

And froze.

"That…. Voice…" Kurita whispered out disbelievingly.

"It can't … be…!" The chubby lineman choked out, prompting all eyes to turn to the origin of that demonic – sounding voice.

He… _Was here._

Sena's heart skipped a heartbeat with relief.

"Hiruma-san!" He yelped out happily, beaming at his captain, dazed with happiness and relief.

"You… Came… Back!" Monkey, Huh-brother number one and idiot managed to stutter out.

"Hirumaaaaa!" Kurita just bawled out happily.

The lowered blonde head arose, making the previously happy team jump back with fear.

"_KYAAAAA!"_ Kurita screeched a high-pitched, girly shriek, skidding back with surprising agility.

Hiruma's face was covered with rivulets of blood – but surprisingly, Harry was oddly calm about it.

Hiruma staggered on the field, turning to the spooked out Dinosaurs, his grin widening to terrifying proportions.

He pointed to them, making them cringe. "Kekeke, cry tears of joy…. Because I came back one millimeter before I reached_ Hell,_ fucking caveman."

… Something in his voice made the Devilbats cringe.

Hiruma was just joking… wasn't he?"

Something about Harry's smirk indicated he wasn't.

After the shenanigans with ketchup, Hiruma looked at the table.

"…A 21-points difference, huh… You hung in there well, you fucking brats." Hiruma's lips widened into his signature devilish grin, making Sena look up hopefully, and raising the spirits of the other team members.

The Devilbats puffed up with pride, making Harry smile gently with amusement at their devotion to his devilish husband.

* * *

The match finished ended with totally unbelievable result – Deimon had won with 43 against 42. Just one point, but it was enough for Devilbats to advance into the finale of Christmas Bowl. It was the greatest upset in the history of middle schoolers' American Football in Japan.

And not only that… Sena had boldly announced they would win against the reigning champions of Kantou area, Teikoku Alexanders themselves.

_Talk about being ambitious…._

* * *

But right now, Hiruma was content. His arm still throbbed with pain – whatever voodoo Harry had done, didn't take away the pain, although it wasn't in such a searing agony it had been before. In addition, his hand would heal faster, and as such, he would have a nice surprise for those Teikoku bastards just in time.

Smiling, he nuzzled the neck of his husband. After the party, they had headed back to their flat, walking in the dark of the night silently.

When they had arrived back in Japan, Hiruma had immediately set on enrolling Harry into Deimon, and as luck would have it, Harry was in the same class with him. Much to Harry's disgruntlement, he became pretty well known as one of the rare ones that dared to defy Hiruma and get away with it with his skin, reputation and mind intact. The only other one was Anezaki Mamori. To Hiruma's disgruntlement, the fucking students – except his fucking team didn't get a memo that Harry was taken – and rather permanently too, as evidenced by love letters and proposals for dates.

It didn't matter if Harry politely rejected or outright rebuffed them. Even if Sena tried to help – but because he was so timid, people rarely took the time to listen to him seriously…. And in turn, they suffered the consequences that ranged from physical to mental scars, courtesy of Hiruma and Keroberos. The dog was surprisingly loyal to Harry, and he chased off anyone who tried to smooch up to his master's beta.

Harry tried to politely defuse the situation, explaining that he was married, but that didn't help. And one day, Hiruma's ire hit the roof.

One announcement through school radio with some well placed…_ helpful_ suggestions what would happen to blabbermouths – that was mortifying occurrence which made Harry embarrassed and happy at the same time. It was reassuring to know Hiruma would always have his back, even if his methods were a little… unconventional. And Hiruma definitely loved his reward.

But back to the present. At that match with Hakushuu, Hiruma definitely thought they were doomed – even with the fucking chibi playing the second control tower, there was little possibility of them besting the fucking ancient relics as it were.

However, Harry proved to be a lifesaver. He had dosed Hiruma with some kind of medicine that made Hiruma splutter – yuck, his taste buds were shot to Hell for eternity – but the … medicine proved to be as efficient as it was disgusting.

It repaired the fractured femur bone, even if Harry warned him not to over exert the throwing hand too much, but it was better than nothing. He definitely totally spooked the fucking eyelashes with his return to the field. Hiruma still grinned at the memory of the fucking eyelashes' dumbfounded face when he saw him back at the field.

"Hey." Green eyes looked at him when Harry heard his inquiry. "What was this shit with the medicine?" Hiruma asked casually, but eyeing Harry all the same.

Harry shrugged. "It's called potion, and it's a common thing in healing for my folk. But because they are too paranoid, and the recipe calls for some very… unorthodox ingredients, it was not published in medicine circles. " Nodding, Hiruma hummed thoughtfully. He knew that there was something that Harry was not telling him, but well… "Oh? Which ones?" He asked curiously, jade eyes glinting in artificial light.

Harry grimaced. "You _really_ don't want to know – trust me on that." Hiruma blinked. Was Harry's skin turning green? Er, greenish? "Well... thanks anyway." He murmured quietly, inwardly praying he never would need that disgusting concoction again. Chuckling, Harry nodded, catching Hiruma's hand and entwining their fingers together.

Hiruma's mouth twitched slightly in a smug smirk as he felt the warmth of that slender-work roughened palm in his own hand.

"So. Will the team be ready for their big time?" Harry asked as he looked at the city lights in the distance. There were no stars to see, but city itself reminded the green-eyed wizard of the small galaxy, what with their blinking lights and different colors.

Tomorrow was bound to be cold, he mused absently as he shivered, making Hiruma embrace him protectively over the shoulders.

A row of white pointy teeth glinted in the semi-darkness. "Hell, yeah. We will fucking _kill_ 'em".

Nodding, Harry chuckled with agreement.

They looked at each other, and inhaled the breath, devilish smiles on their faces.

"_**YA – HA!"**_

* * *

The Devilbats heard the war cry of their hellish commanders echoing in the distance, and involuntarily shivered with dread.

For Hiruma and Harry, the Las Vegas wedding may have been a match - mish-mashed as it may have been – made in heaven, but the Deimon Devilbats team knew the terrible, terrible truth.

And they pitied the Teikoku bastards.

Hiruma Youichi, the Hell Commander and his husband, Hiruma-Potter Harry, the Bonesetter…

…. Were Match Made In Hell.

_**/The End/**_


	31. Believe In Nothing

_**BELIEVE IN NOTHING**_

* * *

_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own _**Saiyuki**_ or _**Harry**_ _**Potter,**_ nor do I own the lyrics. They belong to their respective owners.

_**Summary:**_ Dumbledore was wrong on oh so many points. Harry's true strength wasn't love. He wasn't a naive little boy. Instead of that, a certain heretic Sanzo had been reincarnated to repent for his sins, with all of his memories and knowledge from his previous life…

_**Shout**__**out:**_ Indeed, dear readers, mind is a scary place, but you know what they say about the silent ones. Be wary of them, because they could have batshit insane ideas… which they could make work to bite you in the brain. As I currently got on a _Saiyuki _binge, the idea hit me like a sledgehammer and I just had to write it out. For those who don't know,_**Crimson **__**Sagittarius**_ had been updated – the fifth part is out, and for all the believers, _**Among**__** The **__**Hawks **__**And**__** Doves**_ is currently in works. Until then, there is this little tidbit of a story to tide you over. I would like to thank my beta, **_Moon_** _**Howling**__** Banshee **_for prompt editing - without her help; this story would have been a mess. So thank you, you are a gem!

_**Warnings:**_ Okay, there is a general insanity and _**shifting**__** POV**__**'**__**s.**_Warning for our dearest heretic's thought process and _**wacky**__** AU**__** timeline**_. Also, this pairing is _**Harry**__**(Ukoku)/Koumyou.**_ Told ya, my mind is a scary place.

_**PS:**_ In _Saiyuki,_ Kanzeon Bousatsu, the Goddess of Mercy, is described as a hermaphrodite, so I refer to her as se – as a person, and hir – when I talk about Kanzeon's possessions or attributes. Just a quirk. But if you want to, you can refer to her as a female.

* * *

_I believe in nothing  
Not the end and not the start  
I believe in nothing  
Not the earth and not the stars  
I believe in nothing  
Not the day and not the dark  
I believe in nothing  
But the beating of our hearts  
_

_("100 Suns", by 30 Seconds To Mars)_

* * *

The Triwizard Tournament was an annoyance. He closed his eyes and sighed. Why was he competing again, when he could be learning so many more interesting, if not useful things? His pet projects were also suffering, because he didn't want to tip his hand so soon.

Not yet.

Someone had the balls to throw his name into the Goblet, and as his strange brand of luck would have it, he was the fourth champion. If it wasn't so… _pathetic_, he would have been amused. It was the kind of scheme he would have pulled off to stave off Kouryuu and his little companions.

"Is that your revenge for me annoying your precious Kouryuu?" He muttered, tilting his head back to look up at the moon, the lenses of his glasses glinting mysteriously. In his mind, he heard the other man chuckling with amusement.

"Damn. Guess it is." He sighed; left hand shuffling in his pockets for his cigarettes, only for him to grimace at the reminder that he didn't have them. Being a minor – technically speaking of course – sucked.

Reincarnation was a bitch. He could understand little Kouryuu – or was it Konzen now? No wonder the golden haired ex-god was so surly half the time. Kanzeon was indeed a hag nag, and being stuck with hir for all eternity, regardless of being immortal or mortal was a sure fire was to be driven to madness. At least Kouryuu had his little companions – the monkey, cockroach and the slayer. Mismatched but surprisingly resilient and effective at foiling his plans. His pawns – Hazel and Kami – were useless. Oh well. It was entertaining while it lasted.

His reincarnation was as much as fluke of luck as it was a punishment. _'No good deed goes unpunished'_, indeed. His participation in the last battle, when he revealed that he was on Sanzo's side – the bitch had been stupid enough to brag about killing Koumyou – was a total surprise and the decisive move that turned the flow of battle to Sanzo – ikkou's favor. Were his enemies surprised, finding out that they had to deal not with only one Sanzo, but with _two_ –and that the dark – haired one had the Muten sutra. It pissed the bitch off something fierce – one of the sutras was literally _prancing_ under their noses all the time, and they didn't know it!

It was a perfect mind fuck, in Ukoku's not so humble opinion. The final battle was long, hard and bloody, because they managed to filch Kouryuu's Maten sutra somehow for enough time to revive the monstrosity that was Gyumaoh. Kouryuu was just lucky enough that Ukoku was on his side for once, distracting the giant long enough for Sanzo to get the sutras back… but in the process almost losing his life.

And then, that Gyokumen bitch killed him. However, he had the last laugh –with the last shreds of his will, he activated the Maten sutra, commanding it to devour both of them. He heard the woman's terrified shriek before there was cold and heat and then unbearable, impenetrable darkness.

And Kanzeon had, in her infinite wisdom, decided that because he was such a good little boy, he deserved a reward in shape of being reincarnated, as he wasn't holy enough to be allowed to be with Koumyou. Ukoku scowled. _Fucking __bitch-bastard_. Although he had to admit that Kanzeon maybe knew him all too well; so much peace and stillness would probably driven him insane in a short amount of time, so the reincarnation wasn't all that bad.

Really.

No, the true punishment was that se allowed him to retain his memories. Whether it was by some sort of fluke or just for hir amusement, he didn't know, but - the fact was, he had his memories – all of his memories, if not skills, and sometimes it galled him that he had to struggle onward like a worm, inch by inch –

* * *

This world was strange. No youkai, no Sanzo priests, although there was some kind of story about a journey to the West, and the first time Ukoku read it, he didn't know whether to laugh himself sick or burn the offending book for telling such an extravagant lies. The original Sanzo party was nothing like the book described them like. They were not wise and holy – in fact, Ukoku would be hard pressed to find anything holy about themin any given time or situation, not that he had any reason to point at their faults (He had his own, after all). They cursed, swindled, ate meat, killed and well, between the four of them; they more than enough covered the seven deadly sins. Such amusing playthings they were.

His lips curved into a dark smirk.

This world was different, and yet not, from his previous one. Because of his memories, he advanced faster than most, outright shocking his teachers, and by the time he got his Hogwarts letter, he already had his diploma in Bio-Engineering**,** Physics and couple of other fields. At least this time it was moderately more entertaining, learning about his chosen fields, even if in some aspects his knowledge was miles ahead from what his professors were jabbering about. The Dursleys were not amused, but they could do nothing about their… freakish nephew. The boy just wasn't a kid, no matter what anyone else said on the matter. He was too intelligent, too cunning and too deceptive… and too cruel. His so called family learned – and learned well–that they shouldn't bully or interfere in the brat's affairs.

Leave him alone, and they could be proud, normal family with an outstandingly intelligent nephew who was just a touch on a creepy side of insanity. Try to bully him and be prepared for a trip to hospital, straight to the ICU. It didn't help that the ravens, for some reason, liked the kid.

When the letter came, they were almost weeping with relief… that is, until they remembered they would still have to house the menace that was their darling nephew in the summer months. The only consolation was, the brat was forbidden to use his… magic in that time, so they were relatively safe… relatively because the brat could use other means to ruin them.

* * *

The Wizarding world was an amusing pastime, so easy to manipulate, and yet fraught with traps and laws that offered a modicum of entertainment. First year was… interesting, what with the chase after philosopher's stone and the old coot's attempts at manipulating him. Ha. That was a laugh, if he ever had one, just like when he heard about him being a savior. Koumyou was right, when he told him that the hard part was being a Sanzo, or, in Ukoku's case now, being a hero. Nevertheless, he enjoyed messing with Ravenclaws and their perception of rules. Gryffindors were dumb as bricks, cannon fodder if he ever saw it, while Hufflepuffs were a sickeningly cuddly lot. Slytherins were the only redeemable House, and Ukoku would have been Sorted with them, but his curiosity and thirst for learning prevailed over his darker tendencies. Or not.

It was ironic that the symbol of Ravenclaw was a raven. He may have been called Harry Potter in this life, but he still thought himself as Ukoku – the only name he had willingly accepted for his. Because it was a name given to him by the only one who had willingly accepted him for himself.

* * *

Second year was interesting. He discovered he could talk with snakes, was labeled as the Heir of Slytherin and ostracized by his own House, not that he cared much about that, was almost killed at the Quidditch match, not that he participated in one - and this bushy – haired girl that briefly reminded him of his ex-assistant, Dr. Hwang, was following him like a little puppy, just because he was a prime suspect for killing – more like petrifying – the students and pets alike. The straw that broke the camel's back was her brewing the Polyjuice potion so as to sneak into the Ravenclaw common room with that Weasley girl. Their plan would have succeeded, if it weren't for Ukoku being too perceptive for their own good – they may have fooled the other Ravenclaws, but not Ukoku and that funny – eyed girl, Lovegood or something. Ukoku let the girls go with a warning, and Luna may have added something about Nargles and that Ginny should stay away from the book, making the girl flinch and pale before that Granger girl pulled her away.

All shit went south when Granger was found petrified and Weasley missing. Ukoku, with his superior logic and deductive reasoning found out the location of Chamber of Secrets, only to be dragged along to 'explore' it by that Lockhart fraud. It didn't help that Weasley's annoying brother number six joined the entourage, but what the hell, if worse came to worst, Ukoku could still use him as bait for the basilisk to chew on.

Sadly, no such luck. With the wall crumbling at the most inopportune moment, Ukoku was parted from his partners in crime, and pressed to continue alone. Not that he bemoaned the stroke of … luck, because he was better off without the buffoon and the stomach on legs anyway.

Tom Riddle and his pathetic little story didn't move him a whit. But when the specter called out the basilisk, the entire thing became more than interesting. Sadly the basilisk wasn't open to negotiations, but Ukoku still got what he wanted – he disabled the beast with aiming the air bullets in its eyes and then killed it, much to the horror of the ghost, but not before the beast got a good chunk of his shoulder.

He managed to kill the specter by stabbing the diary with a fang and then resigned himself to die a painful and bloody death – he was covered with the basilisk's blood and his shoulder was full of the basilisk venom, so his survival seemed unlikely. Heh, at least he would get one over Kanzeon, the bitch – bastard that se was…

No such luck. The flaming turkey, which he later found out was a phoenix, flamed into the chamber, took a look and then landed on him, crying. Much to Ukoku's surprise, he survived. Although, to his dismay, he really didn't need to take care of the Weasley fangirl. The return was anticlimactic – he found the Weasley number six and the buffoon of a teacher who accidentally Obliviated himself, and the flaming turkey transported them into Myrtle's bathroom, where he had to avoid the questions and thanks of the spectators. At least the Ravenclaws were happy, as they got the House cup again, much to Snape's ire.

* * *

Third year was... annoying. First, the Dementors brought up a whole slew of memories he was not ready to remember, much less talk about. Second, their new Defense teacher was..._ fishy_. Something was not right, what with him looking at Ukoku like – like - Ukoku didn't have a word for this. Like a dog that desperately wanted to be petted, but he was afraid he would be kicked in his furry butt for his impudence. That lesson with a Boggart was… _troublesome._ Heh. A Dementor as his fear was almost expected- although it was curious just why Lupin had a moon as his greatest fear.

The lessons were … informative. And instead of the stag, his Patronus manifested as a glowing piece of cloth placed on his shoulders, baffling Lupin immensely, but Ukoku knew what it was, not that he explained it to the nosy professor.

The Muten sutra…. His prized possession and the most powerful weapon in his arsenal… and the memory of acceptance from Koumyou.

The Gryffindorks got a scare in shape of the visit of the infamous Black, and Granger girl was as insufferable as ever. Since his arrival, Ukoku persistently topped the student chart as the best in his year, much to the dismay of the purebloods and chagrin of the bushy – haired nuisance. Ukoku could only thank his lucky stars the chit was actually sorted in Gryffindor, although that didn't stop her from following him around, although they had different schedules – Ravenclaws with Hufflepuffs, and Gryffindors with Slytherins. Ukoku was clever, but he didn't flaunt his knowledge – if anything, he downplayed it, while the Granger girl was squawking her mouth around like a chicken starving for attention, not that it helped her much… although something fishy was going on, what with her participation in all the classes available. Ukoku also subscribed to all of them, but he at least alternated his timetable – one week, he visited the classes in group A, and another, he had classes in group B; meaning he did self – study for the subjects of the group where he wasn't present at the classes for the week. And to Granger's fuming, he was still at the top of the class, even if the workload given was monstrous.

When he got a message that Lovegood was kidnapped, he was not amused. Lovegood may not be his friend, but she was someone who amused him and her unique outlook on the Wizarding world was always appreciated.

Everyone in Ravenclaw knew not to mess with Loony Lovegood. Some of the girls had tried, because Loony was hoarding all the precious time with Harry Potter to herself, making the younger girl's life living hell – but when the dirty deeds the culprits had done finally came to light, courtesy of Ukoku's little spies… well, all bets were off. Nobody talked what had happened to the unfortunate idiots, but the fact was that Luna was left alone ever since, and if the house mates had anything to do with her, they were unfailingly polite. Doing otherwise was just asking for trouble.

But the Granger annoyance tagging along was asking for more than trouble. And Ukoku's… gut had proven itself right again. Their DADA professor apparently forgot to take the blasted potion and changed into some kind of mutated werewolf. While Ukoku itched to experiment on the live specimen, he had to sacrifice his not so noble intentions in the name of saving the Granger idiot, and in process exposing some of his abilities. It was just paralysis, but _still!_

Ukoku wanted to pout.

The rat had escaped, and Ukoku had to salvage the mutt from Dementors, effectively destroying them. It seemed that even his _Patronus_ was not usual, but even more disturbing was seeing himself use it.

* * *

Fourth year, the Weasley family invited him to the Quidditch… whatever it was. Ukoku wasn't interested in watching some morons chase enchanted balls in the sky, so he politely refused – besides, if he wanted to go, he would have bought his ticket himself. Instead of this, he dedicated his time to his little projects, one of them was Demon bracelet and he worked on little modifications on his Queen Bees. His little spies had been instrumental in his control over Ravenclaw House, but he wanted them to be more useful than just being his eyes and ears. Call him paranoid, but it wasn't paranoia if they were really out to get you.

This… _fiasco_ with the Tournament threw all his hopefully-peaceful year into the chaos. Ukoku just _knew _there was Kanzeon's hand somewhere in between. The old adage, _'be careful what you are asking for'_, was only too true in his case. Since he lived this life, Ukoku had more than enough excitement on his hands, and while he was happy to be in the middle of the happenings, he was also annoyed because most of the time those so-called troubles could have been solved with a little bit of common sense and good judgment – which the Wizarding world didn't have much of.

Ah, at least it was fun to manipulate them, even if half the fun was taken out because they didn't use their brains.

* * *

Sighing, Ukoku leaned against the wall, feeling the thrum of latent magic purring against his senses. Even if others saw Hogwarts as a building that was enchanted with nifty tricks, Ukoku had a feeling the old castle was sentient, and at first, it had been a shock, feeling the castle's feelers brush against his magic so…curiously, but he allowed it, out of amusement and curiosity. Not all at once, but bit by bit, like allowing a curious kitten to search for the best perch on his body… although that kitten had claws. Deadly ones. The castle liked him enough to hide him from the idiots when needed, although the only one who he couldn't hide from was Luna.

The air was cold and his nostrils were stinging with inhaling the sharp breath through his nose. He was haphazardly clad in trousers and shoes witha black pullover and coat that hada stitched Ravenclaw coat of arms on its left breast pocket. His hair was messy, fine strands falling around his face like crow feathers, giving him an eerie look ofa fallen angel. And instead of a non – existent chakra on his forehead, there was a faint scar in the shape of a lightning bolt. He had a pair of glasses with oval lenses perched on his face, enhancing his features and giving him a scholarly look.

People were surprised that their savior didn't favor the appearance of his parents. Someone even whispered that the child was a changeling, but the blood tests showed that the devilishly smiling kid truly was one Harry James Potter, much to the dismay of one Severus Snape, because then there were rumors that this little hellion was his spawn, and not Potter's! The brat's intelligence didn't endear him to Potions' master any; the kid was a prodigy, and it irritated Snape that some little upstart was better at Potions than he had been at his age. Potions were his pride and joy, and it just added insult to injury when he found out the brat was equally as successful, if not more so, in all the other classes he enrolled in.

Dark eyes looked at the moon, tracing the shapes of a rabbit on its uneven surface. Contrary to the reports, Harry Potter didn't have green eyes, but black. They were the color of the abyss, some people remarked – an unfeeling, dark void that haunted you long after you had seen them. These eyes were not the eyes of a kid, but of one who had seen and doled out untold horrors. And yet, they were covered with a playful glint of one who thought life was being a funny game, interesting enough to participate in whichever position he thought to be most amusing for the time.

He heard a faint noise of light footsteps approaching his hiding place as stared at the moon.

Only one person knew him well enough, and had the favor of the castle in such a measure**,** to find him.

"Hello, dear raven." A dreamy voice, faint as a whisper of wind greeted him. The girl's voice was distant as always, and he felt her lean on the spot beside him.

His lips quirked. "Oh? Did the little rabbit from the moon finally come to greet me?" He asked, his voice drawling with mirth. He turned his head as he looked at his little companion.

"Of course," The girl said amiably, as if nothing was wrong with the world, her pale, moon-shaded eyes staring at the disc hung on the sky. "The raven misses the moon, and the rabbit will keep him company."

Ukoku's eyebrows quirked. "Me, missing the moon?" he asked, his voice amused. "Little rabbit, not every wolf howls just because it feels lonely." He placed one hand on the girl's pale head, absentmindedly noting that her pale blond hair turned silver in the lunar light.

Luna was clothed in the school clothes, with addition of radish earrings anda corkscrew necklace. She clutched to herself a book –_ Magical__ Beasts__ And__ Where__ To __Find__ Them,_ although only Ukoku knew the book actually contained her family's grimoire.

"Then does the darkness miss the light? The sun has won, you know." Ukoku gave a start at her off-handed comment, but refused to give up. Dark eyes narrowed as he looked at the landscape. The trees were black against the dark blue sky, their branches stretching out like pleading hands. "You are very daring, little rabbit. Darkness always swallows the light, don't you know that?" There was a bitter undertone in his dismissal, but the girl's lips stretched intoan amused smile anyway. "And yet the stars shine, even in the darkness. In the light, there are always shadows, dear raven."

Dark eyes widened. After a moment or two, the boy's shoulders began shaking as a low sound filled the air. The sound slowly progressed into low chuckles, and then, into outright laughter.

Ku… Kukuku – _KuHahaha_!" Ukoku laughed the sound echoing through the darkness of the night, scaring out the crows and a pair of owls out of their trees.

When he finally calmed down, he couldn't help himself but chuckle. "Koumyou would've liked you, little rabbit. So _very_ optimistic…"

'… _That __the __darkness__ wouldn't__ eat__ you__…__'_

The second part of the sentence hung in the air between the two teens like a bulbous moon. Something here, but so far and unreachable it hurt.

"You still didn't answer my question, Ukoku." Luna gently rebuked him, leaning against his shoulder.

"_Haa__…_ Some plum sake on a night like this would not be amiss…" He muttered, his hand sliding down from the moon – silvered tresses slowly, almost longingly, dark eyes far away in thought – or was it memories.

Luna was the only one who called him dear raven, much to the confusion of his schoolmates. Ukoku allowed it, much to their surprise – but then, Ukoku preferred almost anything over his name, not that the masses know that little tidbit of information.

"Ukoku…" the girl sighed, as if exasperated. She was used to the eccentricities of her protector, but sometimes Ukoku was too much even for her.

The teen – no, man, was old, older than her, and in his eyes, she saw the true darkness. He was wicked, of that there was no doubt. But the Nargles were plentiful around him, and that reassured Luna that Ukoku was not a bad person. Even if Ukoku himself often disparaged his actions, perversely enjoying people's shocked and scandalous expressions at him doing something uncouth and forbidden, Luna saw the lonely raven, searching for that beam of light to land on. Darkness encroached on the light, chasing it across the space, trying to claim it, and yet –

Yet, the true tragedy was, the light had already claimed its darkness, taming it until it was a mere shadow of itself, leashing it to itself so tightly that onlya silvered night like this one was a solace for it.

"You're still chasing after him, don't you?" she asked gently, her moon-shaded eyes understanding. "Your light."

Ukoku's lips twisted into bitter, mocking smile. "Am I not always?" He muttered, his voice low, prompting the girl to curl into him, making Ukoku embrace her tenderly, as if she was a fragile moonbeam and he was afraid to shatter it. And when their heartbeats resonated though their young bodies, Luna's otherworldly eyes saw the silhouette of a man behind Ukoku, looking at the messy haired teen sadly and with a bit of understanding and longing mixed in his moon – darkened eyes.

He was clad ina long flowing robe, with the bamboo armor shielding his chest and the twin sutras resting on his slender shoulders. His elegant face was framed with chin length tresses of fine hair, while the rest of the thick mass was gathered in a hip length braid. The man placed his left hand, clad ina black arm warmer on Ukoku's right shoulder**;** his long, elegant fingers slightly transparent in the moonlight.

The man looked at her, and gave her a sad, longing smile. _"I __miss __him __too."_ His lips mouthed, the unheard voice echoing warmly in Luna's head. _"Take__ care__ of__ him __for __me, __will__ you?"_

Luna nodded, still transfixed with the ethereal beauty of Ukoku's 'light'.

The man closed his eyes, and he smiled, as he looked at the moon. _"And __as __for __him __chasing__ after__ me__… __I__ will __always __wait__ for __him."_

In that quiet moonlight, there were three persons standing late in the night. Two of them were young teens that could be mistaken for a couple – a black-haired, black eyed boy with messy hair that resembled raven's feathers, and the girl, who was snuggled into his loose embrace was like a moonlight itself – dreamy, ethereally pale, like crystal. The third person was unseen to anyone, bar the young girl that had the privilege of resting in the boy's embrace – a slender older man, an odd mix of shadows and light, his hand clutching at the unaware teen boy's shoulder gently, yet possessively all the same.

Yes, to an observer who saw all three of them, the sight would have been undoubtedly strange, but the night was kind enough to grant them privilege of being in darkness, unseen to any nosy bodies that would dare to interrupt the sad, slightly melancholic serenity of the scene.

_**/The End/**_


	32. Big In Japan

BIG IN JAPAN

* * *

_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own the Eyeshield 21 or Harry Potter, or its affiliated characters. But this lil' story is mine. Song is _Big in Japan_, by Alphaville. Want listen to it, go to Youtube. Also, because there are more versions of that particular song, mine was a slow one.

_**Summary:**_Gaou Rikiya respected strength. He had met his true rival when he was six year old – a boy with ice cold green eyes and messy dark hair. When they parted, Gaou promised to wait for his rival to come back. Years later, one green-eyed wizard will keep his promise…

_**Shout**__**out:**_ Well, hell. So there are we – I picked up a challenge and this is the result. It's a little different, because the primary universe is Eyeshield 21, but otherwise, not much had changed. Gaou was a hard character to write, because he contradicts himself – a beast, but an intelligent or at least honorable one. Hopefully I mamaged to get his character good. Harry nicknamed him _Riki-ou,_ steeming from his name _Riki_-ya Ga-_ou_, but because he was foreigner, he mish-mashed the two words. No pun intended on tha manga Riki-oh. (Yes, there is – _ahem_.) And Harry is named _Fuyu_ here, which means winter, because of his cold eyes. Harry's strength stems from his magic – even if he was a shrimp, the magic helped him augment his muscles to be strong and Gaou was both his rival and mentor in the department of strength. (I just heard that cute lil' Devilbat squeakin' _'No __fair!_' in my ear.) As for Harry communicating with Gaou… err… Gaou being an undiscovered squib? _/sheepish/_ Gaou doesn't have knowledge about magic otherwise, but his strength is enough to be termed inhuman as it is.

_**Warnings:**_ _**AU-verse,**_ primarily Eyeshield one. Some spoilers, and totally veers off from original endings in both verses. This is _**SLASH**_, meaning _**Harry**__**(Fuyu)/**__**Rikiya Gaou  
**_

* * *

_Winter's city side_  
_Crystal bits of snowflakes_  
_All around my head and in the wind_

The winter was bitter. The Christmas Bowl had been concluded, with an upset victory of the Deimon Devilbats over the now former reigning champions of Kanto, the Teikoku Alexanders

"Ah…" He sighed, watching the condensed breath explode out of his mouth in a white cloud, and then slowly disperse, as if it had never been there in a first place. The temperatures cooled down, and the day was slowly darkening into the night. Snowflakes were drifting in the air lazily, and he suspected it would not be long until it would really begin snowing. The skin on his face was itching with cold, but he gave the sensation no more mind than usual. The wind ruffled the spiky locks of his mane, frosting them lightly with the white of snow.

If an observer had looked, he would have been surprised. The man was tall and obviously muscled, his face rugged, with thick eyebrows and wild eyes, and two tattoo-like crimson tribal lines high on his cheeks. He was clothed in black pants and an olive colored jacket that hugged his powerful frame tightly, right now half opened as to show dark gray pullover that stretched tightly over his torso. The snow was crunching under his boots piteously as he moved.

A pair of yakuza eyed the man warily. Although he was no man; really, Rikiya Gaou was still a teen. However, he was the strongest teen in the high school, or maybe strongest in Japan… excluding that blubbering fatty, Kurita or something.

Gaou was in no mood for celebrating. When the first euphoria passed, he lost the interest in staying at the hotel Hiruma hired… more like extorted, for the purpose of hosting the celebratory party. It was no fun. Kurita refused the power matches, the others were weak – well, maybe not Agon, but the Kongo brat was busy with sexing up the chicks. Besides, there was no honor in outright assaulting someone.

Sometimes, having a personal code of honor was a bitch.

Gaou huffed, looking over the horizon. The sun was setting down right now and he was thinking of him…

The one who was his true challenge.

"I wonder what you are doing, Fuyu…" Gaou murmured to himself, remembering those unique emerald green eyes.

_Riki – ou._

The name his friend had called him.

Their first meeting was… explosive. Gaou didn't know English, and Yuki didn't know Japanese, but their fists did quite a lot talking on their own, and after the scuffle they were right as rain.

Gaou smiled as he remembered that memory.

* * *

_I had no illusions  
That I'd ever find a glimpse  
Of summer's heatwaves in your eyes _

A young Gaou was searching for a challenge again. This time, it was some kind of a blubbering punk who thought he could cower Gaou into obeying him.

_Pffft._ As _if._

Gaou snorted. The boy was overweight, looked like a mini – whale crossbred with a pig with his blonde hair on his round face, and to top it all off, he was a foreigner. His … parents… may be rich, but in Gaou's books that meant nothing.

Gaou was six years old, although if you looked at him you would think he was at least seven. His wild hair reached his shoulders and his… unusual marks were not in place yet. He was clothed in comfortable ratty trousers that were dirty and his yellow and black pullover was a mess too, but Gaou didn't care.

"Che… Where is the brat?" He muttered to himself, plopping on the swing carelessly. Right now, he was waiting in the park to teach the brat a lesson. The pig had a repugnant attitude, and his eyes were the eyes of a coward.

There was a commotion as a black and blue streak whizzed past Gaou, and right on his tail was his prey.

Gaou grinned, cracking his knuckles.

"So, you finally came. I thought I would have to seek you out, piglet – chan." He called out, freezing the blonde beach ball slash human experiment in his little world of self-importance.

The boy gulped. "As if!" He blustered, his piggy eyes wide and his jowl trembling with fear.

Gaou wrinkled his nose. The boy practically reeked of fear, and it was a quite repugnant scent.

"So? You ready?" he grinned, white teeth shining in a cruel grin.

"Wa – Wait a sec!" The piggy squealed, his little cohorts backing away from Gaou's prey, not wanting to be in the line of fire. Those piggy eyes narrowed, calculatingly.

"Freak! Come here!" He ordered loudly.

Gaou blinked as the freak, as the … piggy called him, came over slowly.

"Yes?" The word was only one. Gaou blinked. This kid was the black and blue blur that had passed past him before.

Hooo… _Interesting._

There was a short scuffle between the piglet and the freak, but in the end, the piglet was smug, his already unsightly face transformed in a self-satisfied visage.

"He's my underling. Fight him, and you can fight me." The piggy announced self-importantly.

Gaou scowled. So the piggy was a real coward. How… surprising.

Then, he grinned. At least he would get one good fight out of it.

The freak was clothed in baggy pants with an equally baggy sweater and used shoes. However, much to Gaou's surprise, he didn't back down.

Gaou was one hell of an intimidating guy, even if he was just a six year old, because he was more developed as his year mates, and his muscle mass didn't help it one bit. He was like a wild wolf in the pen filled with tamed puppies.

But this…_freak_… stood his ground. That alone earned him a grudging measure of respect in Gaou's eyes, but right now…

Their fists would talk for them.

Even as young as he was, Gaou was known to have a freakish strength, more often than not going against upperclassmen to gauge his strength. However, the piggy either didn't know that or he was just dumb enough to provoke Gaou despite the knowledge.

Usually, Gaou wouldn't have bothered with the challenge, but this… _freak_... Interested him.

His opponent was small, scruffy and looked more like a five year old than six year old, thin as a rail and Gaou would bet he could break his bones like a toothpick.

But the boy was standing in front of him, an emotionless look in his eyes… eyes like the dead of winter.

Gaou lunged.

The boy evaded him with a surprising nimbleness, before launching his counterattack, hitting his cheek, making Gaou's jaw snap with the force of the hit.

Dark eyes widened with a stunned surprise at the pain, but then Gaou's lips widened with a savage grin. "So, you are a stubborn one, eh?" he asked, but the boy didn't answer him.

Gaou punched him into the stomach, making the boy choke out blood, but he was still stubbornly standing. And the fight was on.

The calls and chanting fell silent as the two of them continued their little fight. Gaou was winning, but the boy was giving as good as he got – he had a broken arm, one of his shoulders was dislocated and he had a long gash on his left thigh, but he still stubbornly held on.

Gaou's right eye was blackened, his ribs hurt like a bitch from one of those kicks and his hand was bloody where the brat bit him, but… he had fun.

/*/

The last clash. Hands clutching, they stood against each other, trying to push the opponent into the ground. Gaou was winning, he could feel it. But his opponent was just as stubborn – Gaou could hear the bone grinding, and the blood welling from the gash and for a moment, he thought to stop all this farce.

Dark, black eyes stared into green ones stubbornly. This was a battle of wills now… the one who would win, would be an alpha. And just when the boy was on the verge of giving up, his strength failing, that wintry sheen fell off in a blaze of power, and Gaou yelped as the boy's hands clenched again, stronger than ever, and then, it was over.

He fell on the ground on his back, grunting slightly with pain and surprise as the slight body fell on his.

He… _Lost._

Gaou at first couldn't comprehend it. Usually, he won, but that was just it, this was not an ordinary fight.

Those green eyes, which a moment before were blazing with a heat wave of power, were wide with surprise before they once again became icy planes of green.

After a moment, they separated, panting.

"You win." Gaou said, grinning a bloody grin at the boy, who only cocked his head. "What's your name?"

Green eyes blinked with confusion.

"Ha! You lost! You lost!" The ugly piggy crowed, grinning. "So you hafta obey me!"

"Shut up." Gaou grunted at the blonde boy. "Like fuck I will obey you, you tub of lard. If anyone, I will obey him." He pointed at the skinny boy who was mutely tending to the gash on his thigh.

The piggy scowled. "Freak is weaker than me, you loser! An' you agreed that if he defeats you, you will obey me!" He screamed, his tubby face becoming red with rage. He kicked the green-eyed boy's dislocated shoulder, making the boy wince, but otherwise, the freak was silent.

Gaou's eyes widened with outrage. In a flash, he was on his legs and in the tubby's face. "You wanna die?" He asked, growling, as he harshly grabbed tubby by his tailored clothes.

The tubby's scent became sickly sweet, making Gaou grimace. Without looking, he knew…

The piggy had soiled himself.

Disgusted, he pushed the tubby away, making him stumble. "You make me sick. I fought him," he pointed at the green-eyed boy, "Because he at least had honest eyes. But you, _you_…" Gaou shook his head, at a loss for words. "Your eyes are _disgusting_."

With that, he turned his back to the shivering coward and gently nudged the sitting boy.

"I'm Rikiya Gaou," he pointed to himself, grinning, as the boy eyed him warily. "You?"

The boy shrugged. "Hari." Then, he cocked his head, and pointed at Gaou. "Riki – ou?" He inquired curiously. Gaou huffed. "Rikiya Gaou." He repeated.

The boy rolled his eyes. "Riki – ou," He repeated stubbornly, his lips set in a half-pout.

Gaou's eye twitched. But then, he brightened. "Fuyu." He told the green-eyed boy triumphantly, a small smirk on his face.

The newly named 'Fuyu' watched him, but then finally accepted his name.

Gaou usually wasn't so petty, but he really didn't appreciate anyone butchering up his name. So he had his small revenge – he intentionally gave Fuyu a girl's name.

Fuyu grunted with acknowledgement and it was settled. The Power Duo was born.

Later on, when Fuyu knew more Japanese, he was furious that Gaou chose a girl's name for him. But the damage was done, and well, he got used to it. Besides, only Gaou was allowed calling him that, everyone else used 'Haru.'

Life was good.

* * *

_You did what you did to me  
Now it's history I see  
Here's my comeback on the road again _

But their happy times together didn't last long. When Fuyu was eleven years old, the Dursleys suddenly decided to go back to England, much to the both boys' confusion and irritation. Neither of the two of them wanted to be parted from each other, but it couldn't be helped.

It was a surprise, Gaou reminisced, as nine days after Fuyu's birthday, he received a post via owl. The news was equally unbelievable. Apparently Fuyu was something that was called a wizard, and had to attend some magic school, called Pigpimples, or something. Gaou got a good laugh out of the name, because it was so silly and not respectable at all. He was happy that Fuyu missed him and thrilled that his rival was continuing his training regime.

Both Gaou and Fuyu got in some usual shit when they were kids, but Gaou steered Fuyu into training – he couldn't have his only and one rival look as weak as a newborn kitten, even if he was cute like that. Much to Harry's dismay and Gaou's exasperated amusement, Fuyu just didn't flesh out like he ought to do. Gaou had muscles that would make professional body-builders weep with envy, while Fuyu's… physique was a bit on a girly side. Gaou mentioned it once to Fuyu and that was the last time he ever teased Fuyu about being girly. Gaou may have muscles, but Fuyu was definitely stronger out of the duo. In his anger, Fuyu broke Gaou's nose and dislocated his jaw. Not a good farewell gift, but Gaou supposed he deserved it.

Ahh, those were good memories…Gaou closed his eyes, smirking faintly.

Neither of the two apologized for the last incident, but it was alright. They understood each other. Time flew, and they exchanged post via different means. While Fuyu was in his Pigpimples School, it was by owl post, and in the summer months, they used e-mail – Fuyu had to go to the local library to access the internet, but otherwise, their communication was unhampered.

The letters… were interesting. Gaou found out that Fuyu was rather famous, and the adventures he had gone one while he was still in school made him wish he had this…. Magic. Certainly, wrestling with a Basilisk or that Cerberus would be an interesting experience… although he _did_ want to bash Fuyu's skull in for his rash sense of chivalry. Additionally, his gut churned when Fuyu wrote to him about Hermione, Ginny and the others. Fuyu was _his,_ damn it!

Meanwhile, he still trained, he grew out his hair, and he got his tattoos. Adults could protest however much they wanted, but it was his fucking life and he would fucking live it out as he damn well wished to.

Challenges became more and more sporadic, and in his boredom, he worked part time in a steel factory, getting money and working out simultaneously. To the surprise of his peers, he was fairly fluent in English, both spoken and written. He still sort of sucked in the communications department, though.

Then, he entered the Hakushuu, and his life changed.

* * *

_Things will happen while they can  
I will wait here for my man tonight  
It's easy when you're big in Japan _

He was still waiting, when that…scaredy-cat Reiji approached him, and offered him a chance to measure his power on the field.

And Gaou, being what he was – competitive and sorely lacking in challengers, immediately accepted. He wanted to face Fuyu as a worthy adversary – a man who was worthy of walking alongside him in all the days of his life. Fuyu may have had magic, but Gaou would be the strongest.

_That,_ Gaou swore, was his sacred goal.

He took the American football community by the storm – he was one of those linemen that was nigh unstoppable on the field, and Marco was rightfully smug in sending their opponents funeral flowers. After all, nobody survived initial contact with Gaou on the field – all of them fell in front of him like broken cards. Gaou made his name.

Gaou… was big in Japan.

* * *

_Aah when you're big in Japan-tonight...  
Big in Japan-be-tight...  
Big in Japan... ooh the eastern sea's so blue _

Rikiya Gaou. A name, synonymous with a monstrous strength, second only to that God of linemen, Kurita Ryoukan. And even then it was doubtful just who was the number one among the two of them. Kurita didn't care about being the best – he lacked that animalistic need to _be_ the best, to wrangle his opponent sky-blue just out of the sheer enjoyment in proving that he was physically superior to his adversary on the field.

Ootawara was too stupid. Really, it was a wonder just how did he got into the Oujou in the first place, but it's not said in vain that the biggest idiots also have the greatest luck. However, he was not a challenge. Maybe in some ten years or so… if the idiot grew a brain.

Gaou sighed. He looked at the sea, which was flickering softly in the morning light. After a sleepover in hotel, he was heading back to his home. But because he was from Hakushuu, he had to take a morning train because it was one of the rare ones that still worked, as there were holidays. The sea was shimmering softly, and the landscape slowly blurred.

Marco was in another compartment with Maria – it seemed that the lovey dovey couple wanted some privacy, and Gaou didn't begrudge them for it. Others were still snoozing away either in the hotel or on the train. Gaou yawned.

"Wonder what you are doing now, Fuyu…" He muttered our, his voice low, and black eyes softening a little. Fuyu had had an absolutely shitty year so far, what with Umbridge being pissy and acting as a High Inquisitor. However, Gaou had a feeling that Fuyu wasn't telling him everything, and that was worrying him. Fuyu was a rather independent sort of a guy, and it took Gaou a long time to convince him it was alright to ask for help. But for Fuyu to be so…lone wolf, even in his letters, didn't bode anything good. At least the guy had found his Dogfather – Gaou almost laughed himself sick at the title Fuyu gave Sirius and the reason why. He asked if the guy was strong, but to his disappointment, Fuyu answered that Sirius was a normal guy. No challenge… although he didn't need it, if he had a stick. Anyway, if Gaou ever met the horny furball, the resulting meeting would be…explosive. Dogs and him didn't get along… well, except for the devil's hell dog, Keroberos. But that was because both of them were animals and instinctually knew not to piss in each other's food.

* * *

_Big in Japan-alright,  
Pay! - Then I'll sleep by your side  
Things are easy when you're big in Japan  
Oh when you're big in Japan _

Time was moving forward once again, but it was slow-paced, nothing like the rush when they were preparing for Christmas Bowl.

Clothed in his working scrubs, Gaou ambled to his home. Not many knew, but he lived in a red district.

A whistle. "Hey… Big guy…" A bitch purred at him, seductively exposing her charms. She was a good one, smooth skin, dark eyes with smoky eye shadow and rouge lips tilted in a sleazy half smile. "You're soo big… warm me up?"

Gaou snorted. "Fuck off, woman. Go sell your titties to someone who would appreciate them. I ain't in the mood to be your meat stick."

The other bitches tittered at his crude language. "He got you there, Lin." One of them, clad in vivid purple, called to the pouting girl. "Give up; you'll never ride his pole."

Gaou rolled his eyes. Sure, be a hunk of meat, and they converge on you like a bunch of starved crows.

The prostitutes here actually knew him, as he acted like their part time protector. It was an accident the first time – he had seen a man brutally kicking one of the working girls, and his blood boiled. Sure, the chicks there were whores, to say it simply, but there was no need to violate a woman just because she was spreading her legs for money. Long story short, he saved the girl – her name was Ren, but she operated under the pseudonym Chie. Since then, he was some kind of unofficial protector of the girls on that particular street, although he was often teased and ribbed for his steadfast declinations of their offers. It was a standing joke between them and some kind of a greeting.

This was his…"Welcome home."

He moved through the street silently, his dark eyes looking sharply for anything out of the ordinary. There was nothing unusual; if some miserable excuse of a human wanted to rob someone, even he wasn't an exception as a prey. But only the most desperate would take on him. A warm weight settled on his shoulder, and he absentmindedly petted the bird.

"How is he, Kyouya?" He asked the bird lowly, and the black eagle answered him with a sharp cry. Gaou smirked. "That good, heh? C'mon, I have your usual prepared."

Kyouya was Fuyu's bird. He had hired him so often that the post office said he should just buy him, as the ruddy bird didn't tolerate anyone else as his minder. Besides, it had the tendency to bite the unfortunate helpers something terrible. The Black eagle was an Amaterasu, one of the magical eagles, characterized by his sharp golden eyes and pure black plumage. His species was also known as very fast, on par with a Thunderbird, and as such, they were excellent carriers. However, they were very picky about who minded them, and Fuyu actually lucked out that Kyouya even considered him to be adequate enough to take care of. But Kyouya had taken an absolute shine to Gaou for some reason….

Both the young man and his feathery companion continued their trek, blending in with the darkness and ignoring the sounds of hustle and bustle of the girls in 'service'.

It was just another ordinary evening.

* * *

_Neon on my naked skin, passing silhouettes  
Of strange illuminated mannequins _

He ruffled his mane of hair, huffing slightly.

This last dream was… strange.

His skin was perspiring, his hair was messy – well, messier than usual, and he was pretty sure his laundry bill would suffer again.

Gaou huffed. His half – darkened room was illuminated by the neon light of street signs, blinking in and out monotonously. Shadows pooled in the valleys of his muscles as he flopped back on his back.

"Ah, _damn_." He grumbled out, closing his eyes and covering them with a hand. His habit of sleeping naked was really annoying him now. But for some reason, he couldn't stand wearing boxers in the bed since he stopped wearing diapers. It was sleeping in the buff or nothing. Usually, that didn't cause problems, but the appearances of those… wet dreams changed his mind.

Not that they were not enjoyable – they were, but for some reason, he didn't dream of the breasts and lush curves of girls, but of green eyes and a slender body that packed more power than it ought to.

He glared at the table where the most recent photo of Fuyu was displayed in a rickety old frame. It was a Muggle photo, showing Fuyu with his white owl, Miyako. The boy was taller and his lines were more mature, and his usually wintry green eyes were warm as he looked at whoever photographed him at the time. He was clad in faded blue jeans that clung to his legs, and an equally tight fitting dove grey turtleneck. Around his neck, there hung a necklace Gaou sent him for his fourteenth birthday. It was a double-twisted jade pendant. Gaou had seen the thing in the small shop of an old Maori man, and he just had to have it. Something about that pendant just screamed 'Fuyu', although he didn't know what or why. The damn old man made him work for it, too, what with helping him to clean the shop and take care of the stock. Old man Atawai was definitely a hard taskmaster, and even if Gaou had more than enough muscle to overpower the old man, Atawai wasn't intimidated. He just pointed out calmly that if he wanted to have that particular pendant he would have to work for him, or nothing. So Gaou had to bite his tongue and bow to the old Maori's wishes. He had worked every day for three months before old man Atawai deemed the work he had done good enough to give him the pendant with a small, secretive smile on his face.

But why was he dreaming of Fuyu wearing nothing but the pendant and smiling at him, flushed with exertion and his eyes filled with deep warmth?

He groaned, exasperated as his lower region stirred again.

"Fuyu…. This. Is. All. Your._ Fault!_" He ground out, as he grabbed his member and began stroking, still heated from his dream encounter with his old friend.

Damn, but Fuyu would make one very sexy chick, if he were a female…. But Gaou , for some strange reason, liked him just as he was.

And Gaou was simultaneously exasperated, irritated and bothered that his body responded so strongly at the thought of Fuyu.

Finished or not, come summer he would go to England and find the bastard and – and –

He growled as his release spilled on his body, the milky liquid a stark contrast to his darker body.

Fuyu was gonna get it, one way or another.

The next few days, Gaou was more irritated than a hungry bear with a beehive up his butt.

* * *

_Shall I stay here at the zoo  
Or should I go and change my point of view  
For other ugly scenes _

The zoo was looking a little abandoned at the time. Gaou didn't know why had he gone here – there was nothing much to see outside, and the inside was filled with squawking birds, smelly monkeys and … well, coming here was a waste of time.

Except it was not.

He still remembered their first visit of the zoo. They were some nine years old, and when Gaou found out that Fuyu had never been to the zoo, he dragged his friend to one. They had a great time, except when all the snakes fell in love – or so it seemed – with Fuyu.

The caretakers of the reptilian section almost begged the freaked out boy to stay here, as some of the snakes were really problematic.

Gaou… well, Gaou didn't have any luck. It seemed that the female gorillas just loved him to bits and he had to bear their offering for mating, much to Fuyu's amusement. Gaou was not a happy camper, but he was placated with Fuyu's homemade curry. For some reason, he adored curry, and Fuyu's was the best.

It had been an early summer then.

In the winter… the scene was less vibrant… almost ugly. He saw some pairs also visiting and growled with irritation.

It wasn't fair.

And Fuyu's last letter made him concerned, too. On the paper Fuyu kept for their correspondence, there were traces of blood, and he also smelled the iron scent on the gifts Fuyu sent him.

Fuyu's explanation, that some old hag was torturing him, didn't help the matters

Once again, he looked at the ugly vision, and then turned away.

"Hurry home, Fuyu."

His soft mutter drifted away on the wind as he began walking to the exit gate.

* * *

_You did what you did to me  
Now it's history I see  
Here's my comeback on the road again _

The news of participating in the first World Youth American Football Tournament sent shockwaves among the middle school American football community. Not all of them knew – the project was of course very hush-hush, but something was happening anyway.

Gaou was training again, when they came – the monkey Monta, that Oujou linebacker, Shin and the Eyeshield 21, Kobayakawa Sena.

They invited him to the meeting for assembling the team Japan.

Gaou grinned wildly.

_Hell yeah, that was the life._

That night, he wrote a letter to Fuyu.

His calligraphy was harsh and a little messy, but what the hell, Fuyu always could read his chicken scratching, so he didn't bother about keeping it good

It was just a shame Fuyu couldn't participate.

* * *

_Things will happen while they can  
I will wait here for my man tonight  
It's easy when you're big in Japan _

"We need linemen."

Gaou grinned. "Ffn…Then we'll definitely need him…. The one man who could definitely rival me in power… Kurita."

"Ooh, awesome! Gaou and Kurita sempai! It'll be the strongest line!" The monkey – Monta, Gaou had to remind himself, exclaimed.

"AAH? Like you could use that slow -footed trash!" Agon protested, derisively drawling his words.

Gaou narrowed his eyes. True, Kurita was a soft – hearted idiot that didn't have to do anything on the field, but … Kurita was one of the rare rivals that matched and surpassed his strength.

"… Trash? Are you talking about Kurita?" He growled lowly, his muscles tensing.

Agon, like the shitty genius he was, smirked. "Do I have to say twice for you to hear? We don't need Kurita, you brawny idiot." Gray eyes flashed behind the darkened lenses., "Kukuku well if you are willing to give me the 300 million, I'll lose. If that fat trash pulls us down, I don't mind, though."

Gaou grinned wildly as he raised his hand. Then…

_CRASH!_

The table was broken in half as if it were made from paper, eliciting twin yelps of fear from Kobayakawa and the monkey, while Agon successfully evaded the blow.

Agon smiled his bloodthirsty grin. "I don't feel like going against your stupid strength," The dread locked football player sneered out, preparing for a counter attack. "I'll teach you what a fight is about – " And quick as a snake, he struck.

Gaou also attacked.

But their strikes were halted.

Agon was halted by Shin, and Gaou….

His arm was halted with a grip of his strong wrist by a skim hand.

"Cool it, Riki – ou," A smooth voice commanded, stopping the Hakushuu's ace lineman flat.

All eyes looked at the owner of the hand – and promptly bulged out with surprise.

" Fu – _Fuyu!_" Gaou exclaimed surprised. "What the hell are you doing here? I thought you were in England, dealing with that bastard – "

'Fuyu', as they found the person's name was, chuckled.

Sena and the monkey blushed, while Agon had his… lecherous expression on his face.

"Hello, miss." He greeted Fuyu silkily, smiling brightly. "Would you like to sit with us?"

Gaou snorted.

They thought Fuyu was a girl….

_Pfft. _

Fuyu didn't help what with his image. Raven locks were piled up in a haphazard bun, his skin was pale, but not enough to indicate sickness. His eyes were green – like the greenest of emeralds, but also very cold. He was slender and small, and if Sena would have to estimate, only half a head taller than Mamori.

He was clothed in baggy trousers that were held up with an orange belt and a black short – sleeved shirt with a red and gold hoodie. His slim neck was covered with a leather collar that had three dog tags attached to it, and he wore the necklace Gaou gifted him with.

His left ear was pierced and he wore an earring in a shape of small blade on a chain and three curiously colored feathers. One was red and gold, the second was green and blue, and the third was black and violet.

One dark eyebrow arched dryly.

"Thanks, but no thanks." Fuyu replied, smirking. "Besides, I am a boy."

"_WHAAAT!"_ The three chorused, mortified. The monkey was beet red, as he thought Fuyu to be even prettier than Mamori.

"Riki-ou," Fuyu turned to the grinning Gaou, green eyes cold. "You are a bastard." He growled, making Gaou wince slightly, as Fuyu strengthened the grip on his wrist.

"Sorry?" Gaou offered hopefully, smiling at his friend.

For a moment, Fuyu stared into dark eyes, but then he snorted and released him.

Gaou grinned. "So you didn't slack in your training, huh?" He asked, dark eyes glinting challengingly. Fuyu rolled his eyes heavenward. "As if. So I hear you are assembling a team for the World Youth.

Gaou snorted. "Yeah. So far, we have Kurita, Banba, Yamabushi and Ootawara as linemen." He smirked. "Shame you can't play with us."

"_EEEHHH?"_

"H – Him? Play with us?" Sena stuttered, his brown eyes huge. The teen didn't look like much, but, playing American football on the international level was running with monsters.

"Are you kidding, trash?" Agon asked incredulously. "This trash - "

Gaou growled dangerously. "Shut it, shit face. Fuyu could send Kurita blue sky with no problem." He growled out, making the listener's jaws slacken with disbelief.

Fuyu groaned, hiding his face behind a hand.

Riki-ou and his warped sense of competitiveness...

Fuyu shook his head.

"Can you prove it?" Shin asked reasonably, as he too looked at the slender frame of Fuyu doubtfully. Fuyu looked more like a running back or a quarterback – but a _linebacker?_

Was Gaou off his rocker?

However, if Rikiya Gaou admitted that Fuyu could send the man who defeated him in a skirmish of one-on-one blue sky with no problems…

And Rikiya Gaou didn't kid when it came to strength.

Fuyu blinked. And Shin stilled as the cold green eyes zeroed in on him. "Maybe. I don't know for sure because I didn't go against him, but - "

"E – Excuse me, Fuyu-san, b-but what is your bench press?" Sena squeaked out, blushing as Fuyu looked at him, giving him a small smile. Gaou growled, making Sena squeak and cower to Shin a little.

"To tell the truth, I never recorded it. Last time I did, it was 100 kilos."

Silence.

Then, Agon chuckled. "And you think he would send Kurita blue sky with this?" He scoffed. "I don't like the fatty trash, but his strength is real."

Gaou barked out a laugh. "Fuyu, you are too modest." He scolded Fuyu, who only glared at him. "No, what he apparently forgot to tell you… that was his bench press when he was eleven years old."

"_E__ – __Eleven?"_ The monkey squeaked out, blue with fear. Gaou nodded. "Yeah. Mine was 105 at the time…and he still defeated me."

Agon stared at the slender teen, speechless.

"And now?" Shin asked quietly, steel blue eyes flashing in interest.

Fuyu shrugged. "I told you, I don't know. When I went to school, I didn't have time to measure it. Other things took priority first."

Gaou sobered up, thinking of Fuyu's letters about the attempts on his life.

"Do you play football?" The monkey asked, brown eyes still awed.

Fuyu blinked. "Uh…. No?"

"_Eehhh!"_ The monkey yelped. "But – but – "

Fuyu snorted. "I lived in England until three days ago," he scoffed. "I know how to play, but I never tried to."

"Then it's settled," Gaou grabbed Fuyu by scruff of his neck, as if the teen was a disobedient kitten, despite his squeaked out protest. "C'mon, let's test him."

Fuyu snarled, but he couldn't do anything, as Gaou was wise enough to hold him at arm's length. The group stood up and marched out of the restaurant.

/*/

They went to Oujou, because it was the closest.

Sena gulped at the look Fuyu sent Gaou. "W -Will it be alright?" He whimpered to Takami.

Takami sighed. "I really don't know," He admitted, looking at the table. "But Gaou should be alright…"

They met Takami on the way, and the Oujou quarterback was conned in helping them take the stats of the fuming teen on Gaou's shoulder.

"Okay, we're ready." Takami called.

Gaou dumped Fuyu on the ground, with the latter hissing something very unpleasant at him, if the expression on Gaou's face was anything to go by.

"First, Gaou." Takami announced, gulping.

_"Ffnn._ " Gaou grunted as he lifted the weights.

"S – Scary…" Monta whispered to Sena, who swallowed and nodded.

"T – two hundred and twenty," Takami announced his voice tight. Gaou truly was a beast. No wonder Banba had so much trouble with him.

"Next, Fuyu-kun - GAOU, WHAT THE _HELL!"_ Takami yelped , but Gaou had already thrown the weights at the slender teen.

"Catch." Gaou grunted out, grinning.

The kid would be crushed under the weight….

… However, the kid stretched an arm and caught the bar with weights on as if it were no heavier than an apple.

Green eyes, previously cold, were now burning with fury. "Riki-ou, you son of a _bitch_…" Fuyu growled out, incensed. Gaou gulped. "Eh, heh…No throwing the weights when kiddies are around?" He offered meekly, as the spectators eyed the two of them in shock.

"Damn straight, Riki-ou." Fuyu grinned unpleasantly. He put the bar back to the holder and then flexed his fingers, before clenching them in a fist and clocking Gaou in the face.

Gaou was out like a light.

Takami was white with shock and the others were feeling no better.

If Gaou was a beast, then Fuyu was a _demon._

"… All for getting him in team Japan?" The monkey called out weakly.

All five hands shot into the air.

"Aye."

Fuyu groaned, face palming.

"Guys, I don't play football!" He called out, but he was snatched by Agon.

"Then it's high time for you to learn." The Shinryuuji ace muttered absentmindedly as he dragged him to the indoor field.

* * *

_Aah when you're big in Japan-tonight...  
Big in Japan-be-tight...  
Big in Japan... ooh the eastern sea's so blue _

"…. Come again?" Yamato asked flatly. The news was just so unbelievable that he had to ask for confirmation.

A newbie held the position of lineman… and was apparently stronger than Gaou.

Sena nodded his brown eyes huge. Apparently he was still in shock that there existed monsters stronger than Gaou.

"And that's him?" Yamato pointed at the slender teen who was talking with Agon.

"Yeah." Sena nodded, biting his lip nervously.

Yamato grinned. "So…let's check how he would stop a _Caesar __Charge."_

/*/

Five minutes later, Yamato was on the ground, wheezing painfully.

It was like running at a steel wall at full throttle. Fuyu didn't even budge, but met him head on. But that wasn't the scariest thing.

Fuyu was_ fast_. Very fast and no matter how Yamato tried to trick him – he used the _Devil__ Bat__ Ghost_ too – Fuyu was unnervingly accurate in locating and ambushing him.

Despite of the pain, Yamato grinned.

Hell yeah, America was a toast.

* * *

_Big in Japan-alright, pay!  
Then I'll sleep by your side  
Things are easy when you're big in Japan_

"… Are they_ serious?"_ Bud Walker choked out as Hiruma called out number thirteen to replace Kurita. Until now, number thirteen hadn't played in any matches, so Clifford hadn't gotten any data on him.

He was termed as the pretty boy/girl of team Japan, and they still argued about his gender.

Slender hands secured the helmet as sharp green eyes looked over the field.

Don grinned a perverse grin. "I'll block him."

/*/

The silence was deafening. Nobody expected the fragile-looking lineman to practically _punt_ Mr. Don out of the line effortlessly.

Even Hiruma was slack-jawed at the casually used amount of force. Gaou just grinned happily.

Punt number two made Morgan drool with possibilities. Running backs and receivers were a dime a dozen, but linebackers like him – they were gems of priceless value.

Punt number three saw Mr. Don looking at the blue sky.

"H – He is a monster…" Marco stuttered out, both of the playing teams agreeing with him mutely.

"_Hee_. But he's monster that's on our side," Mizumachi piped up cheerfully.

"That_ isn't_ helping," Kakei deadpanned, as they prepared for the next offense.

Unsurprisingly, Japan had won, and the MVP of the World Youth became that strange man, Narikawa Fuyu.

However, Fuyu declined both the position and money, making Morgan fume at the rejection, but at least Agon and Hiruma were happy with their lot.

That didn't mean Fuyu was stalled any less than he had been before.

"Hey… Wanna go watch a movie?" Agon asked, dropping a hand around Fuyu's shoulders casually, making Gaou growl in the process.

"No." Fuyu deadpanned as he removed Agon's arm with practiced ease. "Go ask someone else." Agon faked a heart-attack. "Ouch. You wound me."

"You'll survive." Green eyes sent him a cutting look, making Agon shiver with arousal.

"Riki – ou, let's go."

Gaou grinned smugly at Agon's frustrated face at Harry's wordless dismissal.

/*/

People were wondering about the unusual pair. A tall, huge man with a caveman's hairdo, big muscles and a crazy-ass grin and a girl - a very pretty one, with dark hair, green eyes; although she was something of a tomboy what with 'her' choice of clothes. A very unique pair.

Beauty and the Beast -err, in fact, they were two beasts, but nobody needed to knew that.

Gaou grinned.

It was good to be big in Japan, indeed.

**_/The End/_**


	33. Always

_ALWAYS_

_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own Harry Potter or Fruits Basket, nor do I own he characters. This story is mine though. Oh, and the song belongs to _**Saliva**_, the title is _Always_. Want to listen to it, it's on YouTube.

_**Summary:**_ Love isn't always fluffy and gentle. Love is also heartbreak, confusion and violence, a cruelty made form, and hope with torn wings. And sometimes, it's better to let go of your heart, breaking it in the process than holding onto it.

_**Shout out:**_ Oya, y'all. Metaphorically speaking, you could find me clutching from the rafters on the ceiling, my proverbial tail puffed out with fright. My, this story was a scary one to write. One of you was kind – and sadistic enough – to give me a song to write a story to as a prompt, and well, here ya go. I apologize for the delay, but both and my beta were occupied with real life matters while we should have toiled on the story for your amusement. Thank you for your patience, and I hope you will enjoy the story.

_**Warnings:**_ **AU-verse**, **Akito **as a **male** and broken down relationship, pairing this time is _**SLASH – Harry (Juntaro)/Akito Sohma**_. **Angst,** angst and oh yeah, **violence.** Brave enough still? Go on, read it.

* * *

_I hear a voice say "Don't be so blind"  
It's telling me all these things  
That you would probably hide  
Am I your one and only desire?  
Am I the reason you breathe  
Or am I… the reason you cry?_

Dark eyes stared at the shadowed room.

Again. He had done it… again.

Was he really so blind? So selfish? So cruel?

The room was sparsely furnished, almost austere in appearance, and lightly scented with jasmine incense. He scowled – he absolutely hated jasmine incense, and those useless servants just had to use it! It made his nose and throat itch and his heart was squeezing painfully, as if a rough hand was squashing the organ - not enough to be a heart attack, but enough for him to be highly uncomfortable. The sun was setting, and cicadas were singing their little songs.

The day was one of the milder ones – the weather was tempered, small breeze was blowing in the air, swaying the branches playfully, and the grass was green and lush.

He closed his eyes, leaning against the frame and slowly sliding down, shaking like a leaf in the wind.

Inwardly, he cursed his weakness – his body was so damned weak and he was always kept inside the house like some kind of priceless china doll.

They always kowtowed to him, fulfilling his wishes, like the good little animals they were – his little animals as he had supreme command over them – over their very lives and yet –

Yet, it wasn't enough.

And with that damned Tohru girl traipsing around, making cow eyes at _HIS_ Zodiacs, making them stray away from him, their god –

He inhaled shakily. No. Tohru wasn't the problem.

It was his new assistant, Juntaro.

Juntaro…His lips quirked into a sardonic smirk, which vanished almost as soon as it appeared.

Once again…

He was cruel. _Merciless._

And once again, Juntaro, the foolish assistant that he was, suffered for it.

Dark eyes closing, he remembered…

/*/

**_Flashback_**

Akito snarled. He was in no good mood – the good days were always like that. He much preferred rain, for then, he had a legitimate reason to stay inside, while days with perfect weather such like this… reminded him about his inability to go anywhere outside the house.

It was a maddening circle he was stuck repeating, day in and day out. Sometimes, he thought he was going crazy, what with the monotony of days, interspersed only with the occasional torture of his nearest and dearest. Kyo was pathetic with his attempts at defeating Yuki, and Yuki was equally as pathetic for not growing a damned backbone.

All of them did what he wanted them to do… and yet, since that Tohru girl came, it was like a rug was being pulled out from under his legs.

It was… _irritating._

The only constant he had was the personal assistant Hatori insisted that Akito have.

At first, Akito protested – why would he want to have an outsider tending to him, seeing him at his weakest, while Hatori would happily prance away from him?

It was inexcusable.

Yet, when he had seen him, all messy hair and green eyes behind those ridiculous glasses, he couldn't say no. He didn't know why. He didn't know much about his companion – what he did know was that his new assistant was to be with him always.

Akito named him Juntaro – obedient boy, much to the assistant's chagrin. It was one of Akito's digs at the man's submissive behavior – even if Juntaro had a temper and a half, he had to obey Akito or suffer the consequences, just like a good little boy would have.

He threw the fragile china cup onto the floor. It shattered with a delicate sound, like the wind chimes – and yet, it was as raw as the bloodcurdling scream of a murderer's victim in the stillness of the night.

"What's the meaning of this?" Akito's voice was soft and cold. He caught Juntaro's almost imperceptible flinch. He smiled. While it was gentle, the smile was not nice in any way, shape or form.

"You really think I would want to drink that swill you call tea?" Akito purred out, dark eyes flashing with malicious intent. There really was nothing wrong with the tea, but Akito decided to be difficult on purpose.

"M-Master –" The man choked out, his eyes wide and pleading.

"Don't take me for a fool, _boy_." Akito sneered out, his usually gentle and charming face transforming into something inherently ugly. His assistant flinched again.

Akito rose up from the _seiza_ slowly, like a cobra that would strike its prey at the most opportune moment.

"You are worthless. I asked you to do such a simple chore, and you managed to fuck it up magnificently." Akito's voice was mild and polite and yet, it made the green-eyed man cringe as if he was being flogged with a whip.

Though, whipping would be a preferable alternative to that –_ that_ –

"I'm sorry, master." The man whispered, green eyes lowering shamefully.

Akito huffed. "Pick up the shards." He commanded his voice disinterested.

"Of course, master." The assistant murmured.

Akito watched the man kneel on the polished wood and reach for the shards.

And then, he struck.

He slammed his foot onto the youth's hand harshly, pressing it directly onto the sharp shards, the blood spattering on the polished wood floor like some kind of rare flowers.

Juntaro whimpered with pain. Smiling sadistically, Akito listened to the pained sound and pressed down even harder.

White shards were stained with red, making them various shades of pink.

"Look at me." He said calmly, as if he wasn't torturing his servant.

Teary green eyes looked at him, hurt and confused. "Master?"

And yet…

Those eyes were full of hurt and confusion, but no hate. Never hate, just –

It wasn't the first time he had done that, and in wouldn't be last. His assistant was foolish, so very foolish…but Akito relished in those pained whimpers, that undying devotion that simultaneously scared and exhilarated him.

Tears were sliding down Juntaro's cheeks now, and he still didn't make a sound above that single whimper. Akito knew he was going to get a scolding from hell from Hatori later, but –

He bent down, delighting in that green gaze sliding adoringly over his slim body and provocatively sliding hakama down one slender shoulder.

Juntaro gulped, green eyes wide behind those ridiculous glasses.

"I dislike perverts. And you, little Jun…. are a_ pervert_," He breathed into the man's face, his lips stretched into a gentle smile.

"What is worse, you are a worthless person. A worthless, perverted person that spies upon the sick master – "He ground the heel of his feet just a little bit firmer, before releasing the pressure, making Juntaro choke with the sensation of the tiny shards grinding into the tender flesh.

Those eyes flashed with hurt that was so pronounced it took Akito's breath away.

And then, the hurt was gone. It was as if some kind of an invisible wall slammed up, making Akito unable to read Juntaro's responses to his barbs.

"May I be excused now, Akito-dono?" The man asked; his voice deceptively calm.

Akito unwillingly jerked back to standing position.

It was… as if he were looking at a complete stranger.

This… was Juntaro and yet, it was not.

Slowly, he removed his foot from Juntaro's bleeding hand, but the man didn't flinch. He just stood up smoothly, wobbling a little as he straightened out, but otherwise…

"Excuse me," Juntaro muttered out, his voice low.

Akito huffed and turned away, too shaken up with the man's sudden change.

It wasn't his concern, after all.

**_End Flashback_**

/*/

Juntaro cleaned up the site perfectly. If Akito hadn't remembered what happened, he wouldn't have thought that the polished wooden floor had been, just half an hour before, splattered with sickly red, iron-scented liquid.

As for Juntaro himself, he was his silent and efficient self, but something was… missing. It was as if the man had withdrawn into himself, and for some reason, it unnerved Akito greatly.

But this, Akito found out, was a façade.

Coincidentally, he passed the door to the room where Juntaro was staying for the time being.

Akiko was silent – he was always so silent, like a ghost. It irritated him to be on sick leave indefinitely, so he took care to have at least some amusement, in the shape of quietly prowling around and scaring the shit out of either his servants or his family.

He hesitated as he stood in front of Juntaro's room, looking at the man's shadow in the light.

And then, he heard a sob.

Akito was no stranger to tears, but this – this made him feel wretched.

Juntaro cried softly, almost soundlessly, but Akito's ears were sharp, and the door wasn't exactly soundproof.

Those sobs wrecked the man's something terrible, shaping him into a small, misery filled human ball that shook with grief, deeper than anything Akito had ever seen or felt.

Hesitantly, he stretched one arm, as if preparing to shove the door away and step in, but something held him back.

What _right_ did he have?

He had hurt Juntaro, and the man was already hurt enough, more than enough, and Akito was just pouring salt on raw wounds – no, he was flat out pouring acid on them, what with his treatment.

Juntaro was always so good, so helpful so…

Yet, Akito was – he treated the man even worse than any of the Zodiacs.

He didn't have the same hold on Juntaro he had on the Zodiacs – and yet, for some inexplicable reason, Juntaro stayed with him.

He was Akito's whipping boy, his healer, his assistant, his…. everything, really.

Those gentle green eyes were so old and yet, they held such faith in him…

Many times he felt like a small bird, safely ensconced in his warmth.

Yet, he behaved like a vulture. A merciless, bloodthirsty vulture, thriving on Juntaro's pain and tears.

Akito hung his head, dark hair obscuring his face.

Was he really Juntaro's everything?

Was he really… worth his tears?

Slowly, he turned around and stepped away, as silently as he came.

And once more, he swore he wouldn't hurt Juntaro anymore… but both he and his servant knew that his promises were for naught.

* * *

_Always, always, always  
Always, always, always  
I just can't live without you  
I love you, I hate you  
I can't get around you  
I breathe you, I taste you  
I can't live without you_

Akito glared at the servant coldly. Juntaro was talking with that chit, Tohru, and he was _smiling!_

He never smiled around Akito – not anymore. Since that … _incident_, Juntaro was coolly polite to him, and no matter how Akito needled and baited the man, Juntaro kept the professional distance between them. That threw Akito into a right foul mood, especially when Juntaro took advantage of his free days to go god knew where and not even Akito's net of informants could follow him.

Those days, Akito was in a supremely bad mood

It was a classic syndrome of _'damned if you do, and damned if you don't'_. He couldn't bear having Juntaro near him and worse yet, he couldn't bear Juntaro being away from him.

It was a paradoxical feeling – it was tearing him apart.

He hated him. He hated Juntaro's gentleness, his rare smiles, his unnatural green eyes, his understanding - his everything, really.

And yet, he had him leashed like a dog when they were together, intentionally behaving unreasonably, just so Juntaro would restrain him, just so he would hear the man's voice murmur soothing words in his ear and just so he would feel his warmth against his back – then, when he had his fill, he punished him for the most absurd reasons.

He hated him.

He… lo – no, _liked_ him.

He liked him, but he hated him more.

Once again, he stared into those green eyes – so green and unique and deep he felt as if he were drowning in their depths.

And then, he kissed him.

Juntaro's body stiffened against him, but Akito grabbed a handful of the man's hair harshly, making him gasp with pain, and plundered his mouth with his tongue.

"Akito-sa – "Juntaro tried to object, and for a moment, Akito saw a terrible vulnerability in those verdant eyes he so passionately hated.

"Just this once," Akito breathed out, his voice harsh and husky at once. He licked his lips as he inhaled the man's scent.

It was a mix of fresh pine and a subtle nuance of sage, so faint he would have missed it if he wasn't so close to him. An unusual choice, but one Akito quickly found it was becoming his favorite.

That night, they undressed each other, Akito with jerky, impatient movements, and Juntaro with gentle, reverent touches.

It was bitter, and it was sweet – so unbearably sweet it made Akito's stone cold heart ache and his head strangely empty of any thoughts other than feelings of being with him.

Yet, in the morning, Akito's bed was empty.

And Akito was both thankful and resentful of the man who knew him so well.

That day, Akito was a total bastard, much to the terror of the house.

Juntaro, as usual, bore his fits with stoic patience.

Akito swore he would never, ever sleep with the fucker and yet –

Yet, come night, he once again commanded the man to pleasure him, and Juntaro complied wordlessly, his eyes dark like winter sky at night.

* * *

_I just can't take anymore  
This life of solitude  
I guess that I'm out the door  
And now I'm done with you_

This – _this- _He had _enough!_ Harry seethed inwardly.

Debt or no debt to Hatori, Akito broke the last straw in the dragon's back, and Harry couldn't take it anymore.

It was like the Dursleys all over again, but Akito was so much more meticulous and precise in his torture - both mental and physical. If Voldemort were still alive, he could take lessons from the guy!

Despite Akito being a Muggle, the head of the Sohma family still had some measure of an unexplainable power over the rest of his family. They… feared and revered him in some measure, and secretly, they resented him.

When Harry had seen Akito for the first time, he was reminded of a falcon with broken wings. Powerful, majestic, and yet, so helpless.

He resolved to help the man, to chase the bitterness out of his soul, but everything he was doing just seemed to piss off the irate and moody man even more.

He had to bear the indignity of being renamed as Juntaro – the name reminded him of his days with Dursleys, as Akito used it in roughly same manner than his Uncle would call him boy or freak.

But it was just his luck that he just had to fall in love with the jackass.

Akito…

The man wasn't overly tall, and he was fragile looking, all pale skin and black hair with the darkest, most fathomless eyes Harry had ever seen. Akito was clothed in simple dark violet hakama with a black obi that was a little too big for his body, but the color offset the paleness of the man's skin magnificently.

Harry had tried to take care of the whacko Sohma head the best he could, but Akito was infuriating patient. Every day, heck, every _time,_ they had some kind of battle between them – be it about food, drink, activities or anything else. Sometimes, Harry fell into his bed exhausted as if he had battled the entire contingent of Death Eaters, and that was no small feat to accomplish.

Working for Akito Sohma was both mentally and physically difficult, and he could understand why Hatori was so tired almost all the time before he took the care of Akito.

He literally bled, sweated and shed tears to gain the man's acknowledgement if not approval – and well, yeah, he _got_ the acknowledgement… of the worst sort imaginable.

Akito was a master of knocking people down, using their weak points against them to make them unsure and question their worth.

And being the sole target of that gentle-looking psychopath….Harry scowled as he harshly packed his little duffel bag.

_Fuck it. _

Fuck his heart, his feelings - fuck everything.

Fuck Akito.

Harry had had _enough!_

Snarling angrily, he slapped into the bag some of the books Tohru gifted him with.

He was done with him.

* * *

_I feel like you don't want me around  
I guess I'll pack all my things  
I guess I'll see you around  
It's all been bottled up until now  
As I walk out your door  
All I can hear is the sound of_

"What the hell are you doing?" Harry paused as he heard the sharp voice. But after a moment, he continued packing.

"Packing." His voice was flat with suppressed fury. In the war, he had learned the damned thing called Occlumency, and it had served him well those last hellish days. But even Occlumency had its limits; as successful as it was, nobody could function as little more than a humanlike robot all the time. So Harry decided to cut his losses. He heard a splutter behind him, but Akito, as always, regained his composure rather quickly.

"Why?" Akito asked, his voice cold.

Oh, for the love of - surely the man wasn't _THAT _dense?

Harry gritted his teeth with frustration.

For being such a skillful manipulator, the man was either _THAT _dense or simply so self-absorbed he really didn't want to believe that not all the universe was revolving around his tiny little brain and his inane whims.

He loved him, really, but –

He turned his head and looked at the man. He saw Akito start, before he once again regained his implacable façade.

"Because, _Sohma-san,_ I am _done_ with you." Harry's voice rang between them like a doomsday bugle.

/*/

Akito smirked. "So where will you go to? I believe you are homeless, without funds, and…" he paused, his gentle smile lighting his face slightly.

"And you don't have any personal documents or anything to prove your identity."

And Harry lost it.

He straightened up, turning to the smirking asshole, and wished he could throttle him for his impudence.

Gods, but the fucker was worse than Malfoy in his worst fit of brattiness.

"That is _my_ problem, isn't it?" he asked deceptively mildly, using all his remaining self-restraint to not choke the bastard away to the afterlife.

However much he wanted to, it just wasn't worth it.

A slender dark eyebrow quirked. "So back to blowing fat guys in the red district?" Akito asked conversationally, as if he was talking about the weather.

/*/

Harry growled. Honest to god _growled_. "You know what? You are one miserable fucker, Akito-_sama,_ who can only sit around and whine and complain about this or that not being right. It's a wonder you even crawled out of your fucking diapers, as it is." He spat out, advancing on the guy, until they were nose to nose.

"I came here because I owed Hatori a favor – you see, he was the one to find me and heal my injuries. At first I thought you were a kind, decent man who only had some problems to work through, but I see now that you are selfish, childish, irritating bastard who couldn't even wipe his ass if it weren't for his servants. As for me blowing the fat guys in the red district – "He gulped, feeling the bile in the back of his throat rising at the thought of such a possibility. "I thank you, as you gave me an ample amount of practice on your person. Because of your… _explicit instructions_ I am sure I won't have any trouble with becoming a top whore anywhere. So thank you for your generosity, Akito-sama, but I feel I have overstayed my welcome. So if you would be so kind as to leave me alone so I can finish packing. I promise, in half an hour, you won't be bothered by my unworthy person anymore."

Akito's pale face was at first flummoxed; but then, he became steadily angrier as Harry's tirade progressed.

"I will do no such thing!" He screamed. "You are mine! Mine, Mine, **_MINE!_**"

He lunged for Harry, but the wizard was prepared.

/*/

_SLAP!_

He backhanded him quite forcefully, momentarily freezing him with pain. Then, he grabbed Akito by the hair harshly, making him wince and whimper.

"It's not pleasant when you are on the receiving end, is it, Akito-_sama?_" he said conversationally, as if they were talking about the weather, but his green eyes were blazing with fury.

"This worthless, perverted person…" Harry murmured softly, watching the man's eyes widen with horrified recognition, "Could take you any day, any time, and nobody would stop them. What do you say, Akito-dono? Care for a farewell fuck?"

Akito whimpered with pain, as his hair was tugged on harshly, and he felt tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, his eyesight blurring involuntarily.

He blinked.

His throat was exposed as if he was a sacrificial lamb for the desires of that dark-haired, green-eyed force of nature.

"Juntaro – "He whimpered, hating how submissive he sounded. His body heated at the mere thought of his idiot of an assistant taking advantage of him and ravishing him like a starving dog would be a piece of fresh meat.

"What does that say of you, hmm, Akito-_sama?"_ The man fairly purred into Akito's ear, his fingertips caressing the edges of his hakama. "What does that say of you when _you_, a Zodiac _God_, allow yourself to be sullied with such filth as I?"

Juntaro's scent was pines and sage and something like ozone now, and Akito was helpless and aroused and heavens help him, he wanted that beast he had unleashed with his careless words and actions and yet – he feared it in equal measure.

He trembles, squeezing his eyes shut in anticipation of that sweet punishment, when he was shoved away roughly.

Dark eyes snapped open, confused, as he looked into the green ones.

He gulped. Juntaro was… magnificent.

The man stood in front of him, his hair messy, viridian eyes blazing with passion and anger and disgust –

Akito jerked back.

That contempt – it reminded him –

He choked.

It was like looking into his own hell once again.

"Go _away,_ Akito-sama. Go play your sick little games, go hide yourself in your dark hole, away from life. Be a _coward_, little Akito, because that is what you are."

Juntaro spoke out, his voice cold and chilling Akito to his bones.

"But – You are mine."

Juntaro turned away from him.

"Not anymore."

His whispered out words hurt Akito worse than any accusation could have.

Standing silently, he watched the man finish packing his meager belongings, noting his deft movements and his slender form moving about.

/*/

When Harry finished, he slung the small duffel bag on his back.

"Thank for you hospitality, Akito-sama. And may we never meet again." Harry said, his voice calm, and nobody who heard him would have guessed that inside he had a veritable hailstorm of emotions to deal with.

He walked past the motionless Akito, through the door and away from this wretched existence called life with Akito.

Away from his heart.

* * *

_Always, always, always  
Always, always, always  
I just can't live without you  
I love you, I hate you  
I can't get around you  
I breathe you, I taste you  
I can't live without you_

Harry's heart throbbed in agony. Had he not known better, he would have thought he was having a heart attack. Instead of that, it was only that bothersome person – that uncivilized, spiteful little lord who enjoyed torturing his servants and family.

Gods… it was a wretched situation, not being able to choose whom to love. Hearts were stubborn things – they were like little animals – they either loved or hated, without any rhyme or reason, and you either got along with them or suffered having their sharp little claws rending your life into smithereens.

He… would always love the little bratling, but he was already hurt more than he could bear.

And he was tired.

He was tired of hating, tired of loving someone, tired of needing someone like the air he breathed.

Love… was a fucking bitch. She was not a kind mistress, at least not to him, and Harry wondered just what he had done in his last life to deserve such fucked up relationships in this one.

He was numb with pain, and he felt agony all too keenly.

In that moment, he wanted to go to his little flat and sleep.

Death or _Crucio_ would be preferable to the torture the bastard had unknowingly managed to heap upon him.

* * *

_I just can't take anymore  
This life of solitude  
I guess that I'm out the door  
And now I'm done with you  
I love you, I hate you  
I can't live without you_

Akito trembled. He was numb with shock, and the right side of his face hurt him like nobody's business. Since he took over being the God of the Zodiac, nobody had dared to lift a hand against him, and yet, this nobody, this worm, this worthless person dared to strike him as if he were the lowest of commoners!

Yet –

He felt… strangely alive.

And yet, he felt numb with shock. Nobody had talked to him like that – openly degrading and humiliating him, telling him his faults so harshly they felt like physical blows.

He was scared, he was shaken out of his funk and he was aroused like hell, and he was…

_Pissed off. _

Scared, because he was losing the only person that meant anything to him, and he found out that too late – he admitted to himself too late, as blind as he made himself to be.

Shaken, because he got a harsh dose of reality, and the picture he saw wasn't pretty by any means.

Aroused, because he was taken like an equal, because he was healthy, because he was one to be taken seriously, not because he was the head of the Sohmas, but _despite_ the fact he was the head of the Sohmas, someone dared to manhandle him like he hadn't been for… he hadn't _ever_ been manhandled, really, and it, to his everlasting shame, turned him on.

Humiliated and furious, because _god damn it_, he _deserved_ respect, and this little commoner was enough of a dumbass to not heed his commands – and in this house, his commands were _absolute._

Servants saw Akito storming around in his quarters, and nobody dared to get into his way. It was rare for Akito to move with such speed – in fact, Akito never, ever moved faster than a walk, and this almost–run shocked them to the core.

In his room, Akito opened a secret drawer hurriedly and took out a black box.

He opened the box, and there it was.

Cold, gleaming and deadly.

He took it out from its red velvet bed, checked it over, as d then stormed out of the room again.

On the desk, there was an empty weapon box, its red, velvet-lined maw gaping open, showing that the contents were missing.

* * *

_I wrap my hand around your heart  
Why would you tear my world apart?  
Always, always, always, always_

Akito stumbled into the foyer, and there he was, chatting with the dragon and dog, the dog whining about Juntaro leaving him all alone and he wouldn't have any inspiration anymore –

Akito saw red.

_Always._ It was _always _like that.

Juntaro was always letting the others see him – smiling, laughing, being happy, and him _– __he__,_ Akito, he had to be satisfied with those hopeful glances, soft words and compliance and that bastard really took his world apart, rending it irreparably, and showing him, through those holes and tears, that there existed a bigger world than only him…

… and that scared him.

"Why?" Akito's question froze the three of them mid-conversation.

"Why did you have to do it?"

Green eyes stared at him.

"Why?" Juntaro repeated, blinking. "What do you mean, why?"

Akito clenched his teeth, squeezing the cool handle in his hand.

"My world…_ Why?_"

Hatori inhaled sharply and Shigure's dark eyes widened.

"Why?" Juntaro asked back. "Why do you hoard, degrade and demand absolute obedience? Face it, Akito – sama, the world is a wide place, and it's time for you to learn that."

Akito growled.

"Oh… and just what would you, a commoner, know about that whole wide world?" He spoke up mockingly, slowly rising his arm.

The light glinted coldly from the muzzle.

Shigure paled. "Akito, _don't –_!"

It was too late.

Akito had already fired.

* * *

_I see the blood all over your hands  
Does it make you feel more like a man?  
Was it all just a part of your plan?  
The pistol's shakin' in my hands  
And all I hear is the sound_

Harry was just as surprised as Hatori and Shigure when Akito shot him. He didn't think – he didn't imagine that Akito would go as far as to shot him.

A moment after he heard the shot, he felt a searing pain in his chest, and the shock of the bullet impact made his body fall on the floor.

"_HARRY!"_ Shigure screamed, his voice so… scared, Harry mused. Why would Shigure be scared?

Something wet and warm trickled down his chest and there was a pain coming and going in waves and there was darkness and he saw Akito, pale and trembling, still holding onto the gun, his knuckles white in the pale light, his eyes dark and huge and he was shaking like a leaf in the wind.

The sound of the gun still echoed in his ears, and Akito watched, disbelievingly, as Juntaro slumped on the floor, the turtleneck coloring red on his chest.

Slowly, weakly, Juntaro reached for this red spot which was rapidly expanding, staining the pale grey fabric greedily. Previously bright green eyes dimmed with pain and confusion and –

'_Oh, God… What have I done?' _

Hatori almost ran at Akito, and a moment later, Akito was punched the second time. And while Juntaro was still holding back somewhat, Hatori was too furious to have any such misgivings.

Instead of that, he swung at Akito with full force, the blow crashing Akito to the floor, making him release the gun, which harmlessly clattered away from him.

"You fucking _bastard_…" Hatori hissed out, incensed. "I ought to – "

"There's no _time_, Haa-chan! Harry is bleeding!" Shigure's hysterical voice halted him, so Hatori shot Akito his most poisonous gaze before turning and hurrying back to Harry's side.

"Oh,_ shit_ – "The Dragon Zodiac swore. "We have to get him to the hospital, at once! Here," he stripped his shirt off and bunched it. "Press it against his wound and hold it there until the ambulance comes!" Shigure nodded quickly, pressing the rapidly reddening garment against the wound.

Hatori began to issue orders to the staff that had come running upon hearing the gunshot, and in all the pandemonium, Akito was completely forgotten.

Insignificant.

"Hold on, Harry," Shigure's voice was thick with tears. "Please, just hold on…"

* * *

_I love you, I hate you  
I can't live without you  
I breathe you, I taste you  
I can't live without you_

The shoji door slid open, and then it slammed shut. Akito flinched at the sound. Whoever came, they were royally pissed.

"_You…."_ Hatori's voice was cold like ice. "I don't have words for you." Akito stared through the window.

"You fucked up _royally._ And I was a moron for entrusting Harry to you." Hatori spat out and Akito slowly turned his head around to look at the man.

Hatori was harried looking, his usually neatly combed hair messy and he was still clothed in blood–spattered clothes. His eye was burning with invisible fire.

"How is he?" Akito whispered out.

He saw Hatori clench his hands into fists and he flinched. Hatori, when furious enough, had a heavy hand, and he struck true. Akito's jaw was still black and blue from the force of Hatori's hit, but he didn't do anything to lessen the pain.

He deserved it.

"You _dare_ to ask that? Hell… Harry was _right;_ you are one sick minded fucker." Hatori hissed out, visibly restraining himself from clocking Akito one. "This shit had gone on long enough. Since it's clear you aren't in your right mind anymore, I will temporarily take over the duties of the clan head of the Sohma house."

Akito snarled. "How _dare_ you! I am a God, you will do no such thing!" He surged upwards, but Hatori grabbed the front of his hakama firmly stopping him in the midst of his onslaught. A green eye stared down into his dark, black ones. "How dare _I_? Oh, I _dare._ Since you've been presiding over the Sohma clan, things went straight to the gutter. We obviously pitied you too much, allowed you too many liberties and we are guilty of not punishing you when you made some supremely bad blunders. Yuki is afraid of you, Kyo is terrified of you and your threat that you will shut him in one of the houses for life, just because he's unlucky enough to be the Cat Zodiac, Momji still has nightmares about him being responsible for his parents' deaths, and don't even get me started on Shigure, Aya and others. Hell, I've had to sacrifice the woman I loved because you wanted to hide our dirty little secret from outsiders! I had to watch her eyes gain that blank look when she gazed at me as if I were a stranger and not her lover of almost three years! I had to watch her date some guy, just because of your precious orders! And because of your fucking _fits,_ I lost my eye!" Hatori ended his rant with a roar, making Akito cringe in his grip.

"You told Harry that he was worthless. Now I will tell you something. You are the most fucking worthless waste of air and space I've ever have the misfortune to meet. And for your _information,_ Harry took care of you as a favor to me. Contrarily to what you are thinking, the guy is not some hobo – he has his income and friends and job and life, which is more than I could say for you! His parents were murdered, he lived with his abusive relatives, but did you ever hear him complaining? When he lost his only friends to a terrorist attack, did he complain to you? Has he told you about how the murderer of his parents chased after him, year after year?"

Wide dark eyes looked at the furious man. "He… no." Akito choked out, horrified.

But Hatori wasn't finished yet. "And you just _had_ to go and ruin all the good work I managed to get him through! Your dumb, all-knowing _ass _decided he was a slave, something for your amusement and '_oh, goodie, let's torture him'_! Do you_ know_ how many times I had to pick the shards from his palms? Heal his bruises? No, you don't. Because you are a self-centered, spoiled brat that doesn't know anything and has no sense or knowledge of compassion even if it bit you in the ass."

He dropped a motionless Akito on the floor harshly. "From now on, you will work in this house. Whether it is cleaning, dishwashing or anything else that would be required to be done, you will help. I don't care if you get ill or not – we will supply you with medicine, and if it's needed, you will get a break, but you will do your share of the work. You are forbidden to have servants – you will do your chores for yourself. I already told the staff not to heed your childish whims anymore. As for all other Sohmas, you will leave them alone, and if I hear the slightest complaint about you disregarding that rule, I will kick you out of the house, the fucking curse be damned. You already made us as miserable as you could, what with you abusing your position – but I draw the line with outsiders. Speaking of outsiders, you _WILL_ leave Tohru and her friends alone. And pray that Harry won't take up a complaint for you shooting him."

Akito bowed his head. "Your work starts tomorrow, at five AM." Hatori told him, making him jerk in surprise.  
"That early?" Akito asked, his voice shaking. Hatori nodded. "Yes. I suggest you wear some worn out hakamas, and later on, we will provide you with some jeans, trousers and shirts. As for tonight, you will get your meal and nothing else. You want a glass of water, fetch it yourself. You want your fucking tea, do it yourself. Night, Akito-san."

That told, Hatori nodded to the shaken man and walked out of the room, leaving Akito to contemplate the latest turn in his life.

* * *

_I just can't take anymore  
This life of solitude  
I guess that I'm out the door  
And now I'm done with you_

'_I am done with you.'_

He heard those four words, saw them mouthed out and it hurt.

Once again, he shot up from his bed, sweating and trembling.

That old nightmare.

Even since he had shot Juntaro – no, _Harry_, he had dreamed it.

It always began with that accursed shattered cup of tea – oh, how Akito regretted that now - then it progressed to Harry standing up, his palms still bloody from the sharp pieces, and then, those green eyes were hurt and then resigned and finally, defeated.

Harry would look him into his eyes and then told him a single sentence.

'_I am done with you.'_

And every time, he would wake up, bathed in sweat and trembling and trying to apologize, to beckon him back, but as always, that glance, full of resignation stopped him.

Sometimes, he dreamed of Harry turning to him, and then he saw a hole in his chest, bleeding freely, the dark blood painting the white of his shirt or whatever piece of clothing he wore at the time.

And as always, Harry would smile a sad, resigned smile and mouthed to him that one damnable phrase.

_'I am done with you.'_

Akito clutched at his hair. He had let it grow out, and now it was long enough to be worn in a ponytail. It had been two months since his… _dethronement_ as the Sohma clan head, and the Sohmas flourished more than ever. He saw Kyo and Yuki court Tohru, while Hatsuharu took up a friendship with that violent Uotani girl. He didn't have much contact with the Zodiacs, all of them avoiding him. Aya and Kureno were the only ones that talked to him at any length, and that Tohru girl was invaluable when it came to the different tasks. Even if Tohru was forbidden to help him, Hatori most of the time turned a blind eye to her little acts of helping.

Akito himself had changed too. Instead of wearing hakama, he took up wearing comfortable trousers and a turtleneck or a jumper. At first, he was sick a lot, but then his health steadily improved. He still had occasional spells, but they were now rarer than ever.

The only one dark point was that Harry was still in coma. By some kind of a pure dumb luck, Akito had shot Harry in such a way he got both his lung and aorta. Harry had lost a good deal of blood and the surgeons almost lost him twice while in operation room. Both Hatori and Shigure visited him daily, while Akito was forbidden to see him. But Tohru, soft hearted as she was, regularly updated him on Harry's state.

Hatori was taking care of the man religiously, overseeing his progress and monitoring the changes in his health. He should have been jealous, Akito supposed, and he was, but he was also feeling guilty about almost killing Junta – no, Harry. The man stepped up the plate of being the temporary Sohma clan head magnificently, smoothing ruffled feathers and calming down the unrest and concerns of the other members rather efficiently. Akito was a witness to how many of the clan members, who kowtowed in front of him, greeted Hatori warmly, looking at him with trust and affection. Not all of them, of course, but the majority of the Sohmas were happy that Hatori was leading him.

Akito closed his eyes, sighing. The cold was nipping at the exposed skin of his face. Winter was here and tomorrow it was bound to be snowing.

'_I am done with you.. .'_ Those words haunted him and he sorely wished it wasn't so. Akito shuddered. Why was it so that only when he lost Harry he found out how much Harry really meant to him? Sighing, he dragged his hand across his face, absentmindedly noting the roughness of his palm.

"Please…" he whispered_. "Please…"_

He didn't know what he was begging for. Absolution? Another chance? Forgiveness? Maybe it was all three, maybe it was none of them.

He shook his head violently. That one failure haunted him, he knew, and it would haunt him for the rest of his life.

The price for his foolish deeds was higher than he could pay and not suffer for it.

And when Harry woke up, he would leave – leave Akito, go away to somewhere Akito couldn't follow him to, no matter what.

He curled up in a tight ball on his bed.

And Akito would deserve it.

* * *

_I love you, I hate you  
I can't live without you  
I love you, I hate you  
I can't live without you_

His body was heavy and his head was strangely light. There was darkness, interspersed with shards of light that gradually became bigger.

He sighed, and the exhalation made him wince slightly. His senses gradually came back – he was lying on the bed and there was a faint odor of antiseptics, lemon and thyme tea in the air.

If Harry could, he would have groaned.

A hospital. _Fan-fucking-tastic. _

There were no sounds except for the rustling of the paper – someone was reading newspaper? – and the quiet beeping of heart monitor.

The needle in his arm itched something terrible, but his head felt as if it was filled with cotton and his muscles were like overcooked spaghetti.

_Useless. _

Gradually, he began to remember.

Akito… Gun… he was shot… then darkness.

His tongue was like a useless wad of toilet paper and he grimaced at his breath.

_Eww. _

Well, at least his magic was more or less good, although it took a herculean effort to gather his thoughts enough to muster a Mint Freshening Charm, but after he had done that, he felt infinitely better.

He pried his eyelids open slowly, at a snail pace and immediately, he shut them.

He groaned – more like hacked a protest as even the gentlest of the light pierced his eyes like lances of pure agony.

"_Mmnf."_ He wanted to say something like _'make the damn light go away'_, but his throat wouldn't cooperate.

Someone moved – he at least heard the rustling of the paper being put away and then, a cool hand touched his forehead. He almost sighed with relief.

Someone put a straw to his lips and after some fumbling, he managed to take a sip, and his throat felt infinitely better. It was lemonade, sweetened lightly with honey and it tasted divine.

"You can open your eyes now." A smooth, low voice coaxed him, relaxing him immediately.

"Ha – "He gulped and tried again. "Tori?" There was a taken-aback silence, and then, the voice chuckled. "Well, I never did have my name shortened like that… but yes. Welcome back, Harry."

Harry tried to snort, but it came out only as a weak cough. The hand was removed from his forehead, making him frown slightly. It was a comfortable and cool and Harry felt strangely safe.

"Hell… of a lot… Coming back." He commented, his voice croaky whisper.

There was a taken-aback silence. "Yeah." Hatori muttered his voice neutral. "But Tohru will be happy to have you back. Kyo and Yuki definitely need you and - "

"How's Akito?" Harry interrupted him, making the man jerk involuntarily, and the chair creaked lightly.

"You shouldn't think – "Hatori began, and abruptly stopped. Harry heard an inhale. "But I know that you won't stop until you will find out – He's… alright. He isn't the clan head anymore –"

Harry's eyes opened abruptly._ "What?"_ he rasped out. "Curse…Broken?"

Hatori snorted bitterly. "I _wish._ No, he was proven incompetent enough that we had to take extreme measures and take the position away from him. He still lives in the main house, but he's just an... ordinary clan member, without privileges and such. He…" Hatori paused, hesitating, but then, he plowed on. "He… regrets it."

Both of them knew what 'it.' was Harry's eyebrows scrunches in irritation and pain. His heart jumped at the news, but it was too little… and too late. Of course, that didn't mean at least a little part didn't rail for taking a chance with the god of the Sohma Zodiac. Yet, a bigger part of him shied away, and even though it tore at him, he knew it was for the best.

"He should." He agreed evenly, inhaling through nose slowly. His chest pained him lightly because of the wound and the feelings.

"Will you – Will you press charges?" Hatori whispered, and Harry could hear tension in his voice. Slowly, he turned his head; thankfully he didn't need to strain himself too much, as Hatori was just a little to his left.

"No." Harry said, and Hatori's single sea green eye shuttered with relief and disappointment. "This…" Hatori said slowly. "This is good, then."

Harry wanted to smack the man. "_No._ This is a …_clan_ matter." He managed to get out, scrunching his eyebrows in an attempt to frown. Hatori's eye lightened a little. "Oh. Well... Thank you, I suppose " He sounded embarrassed, and Harry's fuzzy brain muddled through as to why.

Harry closed his eyes for a moment. "So will you come back?" Hatori asked, his voice curiously flat.

Harry made a small sound of irritation. "Done with him." Viridian green eyes opened and looked at the stupid idiot sitting alongside him. "But – " Hatori protested, making Harry huff.

"You still… friend. Others too. Akito… No chances." He managed to get out, before he had a coughing fit, prompting Hatori to scramble for a glass of water.

After some blissful moments, while he drank the lemonade, Harry looked at Hatori again. "You… Silly." He got out, glaring slightly, making Hatori flush with embarrassment. "Uh... Yes, I suppose I was… a little." Hatori chuckled, making Harry smile a little.

Then Harry's body was too tired to be awake, and his eyes fluttered shut.

/*/

Hatori watched the man affectionately. That was Harry – stubborn, patient and loyal to the end. He had been afraid that Harry would cut all ties with them – _him,_ his traitorous mind whispered, but Hatori curbed that thought as soon as it came. Thankfully, Harry put the blame where it belonged; although Hatori didn't have any doubts that there would be setbacks and whatnot in the future.

But…. He had a chance.

If anyone would had looked into the room at this time, he would have seen one man sleeping, his black hair as much of a wild mess as ever, and his skin a little pale. Beside him, there sat a man, older than him, clothed in business suit, a single visible sea green eye watching the sleeping one affectionately, as he held one pale hand in his warm one. It was such a warm scene a stranger would have thought they were a family, if not lovers.

/*/

Tohru smiled at the unaware duo. Hatori deserved his second spring, and Harry-nii– well, Harry–nii needed all the love he could get. Of course, she was sad for Akito-san, but as Harry-nii said, Akito had had his chance. And even if she didn't know just what had happened between the two of them, Akito had almost snuffled the light of hope out of Harry-nii's beautiful green eyes. And nobody… deserved to have their hope crushed irreparably. Silently, she closed the door, pouting a little that she didn't have a camera.

_Darn. _

Oh well, there was always next time, though.

* * *

_I just can't take anymore  
This life of solitude  
I pick myself off the floor  
And now I'm done with you  
Always, always, always_

Harry had come back, just like he promised. Tohru was elated, and the other Sohmas were happy too, especially Momji, as he adored the man's home made sweets, just like Shigure did. Kyo almost bowled him over in greeting, and only Yuki's timely intervention stopped their inevitable tumble onto the ground.

Life went on, and Harry slowly, but surely became an important part of their lives. He managed to get both Yuki and Kyo to admit their feelings to Tohru, and with Tohru's big heart, it wasn't any problem for her to accept them both as her boyfriends. Surprisingly, that little compromise managed to lift the curse, much to everyone's relief. Akito became healthy now, and there was no need to keep him in the house anymore. He decided to go to the Military Academy, wanting to earn his merit. Hatori approved, but Aya cried as he would lose his most valuable model. Akito managed to appease him, saying that he would come back home every weekend and take a day for their 'playtime'. Aya pouted, but he had to accept – it was all or nothing. Even if Akito had become mellower, he was still a nut job, and his colleagues quickly found out that it was not a good idea to joke about his feminine features.

/*/

"Harry…" Harry stopped at the call. In all the time since he had gotten back, he didn't speak with Akito without the presence of someone else. After that…_ incident_, everyone thought it would be safer to have the two of them far away from each other, or, if the situation was such that they had to be together, that someone neutral was always present. Most of the time, it was Shigure or Aya, and then, if he had time, Hatori. Tohru was still too naïve, and both Kyo and Yuki still feared the ex-clan head.

"Akito." He acknowledged the man, his green eyes shuttered. Akito suppressed a wince. Harry had been cordial to him when in the company of others, but alone… the man was…Well, at least Akito didn't have any risk of mistaking the signs.

"Harry… Can we… Can we talk?" Akito said hesitantly. Green eyes stared at him. "What do you want?"

_Ouch._ This time, Akito winced for real.

"I want to apologize." He said slowly. "For me shooting you and for… well, everything, really. I behaved like a wretched person, and I regret that. I regret that I … denied your… affections for me." Akito mumbled the last part out, flushing slightly.

Harry stared. "Apology accepted. " He turned around as to stride away, but then, Akito grabbed him by a shoulder. Acting on reflexes, Harry grabbed Akito's wrist, turned slightly, pulled and –

Akito crashed on the floor with a yelp of pain. He froze as he felt the foot on his throat.

_'What the hell was that?'_

Dumbfounded, both of them stared at each other for the moment.

"Shit." Harry cursed. "Don't go fucking grabbing people by the shoulders without warning, idiot! I could've crushed your windpipe – "

Akito gulped. He watched harry remove his foot, dark eyes wide. "What - " He swallowed-"what the hell was that?"

Harry grimaced. "Sorry about that. I am still jumpy from… my last mission." He said haltingly, obviously uncomfortable with the subject.

Akito nodded, accepting the hand Harry offered him to pull him up. "You're… you're good." He said reluctantly. It was a little horrifying thought that Harry could've thrashed him any time he wanted to, and if Harry had done that when Akito was still frail with sickness...

Akito gulped.

But now, he was healthy, he was… normal, and without any obligations other than his military training and taking care of himself.

He was… ready.

"Harry… Please, could you give me another chance?"

Green eyes widened.

It wasn't true. His fondest dream.. Akito offering to try to… to be a couple, to live together, to –

"Please," Akito pressed on. "I know I don't deserve it, but I - I am in love with you and – "

"Stop right there." Harry interrupted him, his voice cold. Akito's mouth snapped shut and he straightened up.

"I don't know what delusions about us you have now, but I told you, loudly and clearly_, I. Am. Not. Yours. _I am not your toy. You had your chance. Hell, you had about hundred chances, what with me begging and groveling for just a scrap of your affection, and you screwed them over. Screwed _me_ over. Don't tell me now that you love me – it's only your guilt talking, and I don't do substitute relationships. Sooner or later, you would return back to your previous behavior, and where would be I then? Cowering on the floor, bandaging my wounds, excusing my … _clumsiness,_ is that it?"

Akito cringed. "But I changed!" He argued his dark eyes intense and earnest. "I really want a new chance with you and you said you loved me. So why are you so stubborn?"

Harry sighed. "No. Yes, you _did _change, but I changed, too. You said I loved you. Notice the past tense. _Loved_." Akito's face became dark.

"You still love me." He insisted.

"Yes." Harry said calmly. "I always will. But not as a lover. _Never_ as a lover. I will listen to you, talk to you, be your friend, but nothing more."

Green eyes stared steadily into the black ones.

"I am done with you."

Akito's knees crashed onto the floor.

Dark eyes, full of grief stared after the departing man.

And his heart hurt, as if it were torn out of his chest and torn into million little pieces, thrown into acid and then burned in hellfire.

So it was true.

He inhaled a shuddering sigh.

He had lost his chance.

Oh, and did heartbreak hurt.

/*/

Harry stepped out of the room and headed to the small garden in the back of the estate. It was his favorite because it had magnolias, and they were magnificent in their splendor, blooming and releasing a subtle sweetly exotic scent.

He inhaled the air, smiling slightly. He had been afraid that he would make a blunder, what with him being alone with Akito, but it was alright. He was a little regretful, but it was for the best. Both of them were too deeply wounded and lived in two different worlds. Despite Akito being in the Military Academy, he was still incredibly sheltered, while Harry had already killed and knew about the world's ugliness just as he knew about its beautiful side.

Akito had to learn much about life.. and Harry… Harry had to learn about living.

"So there you are." Someone called him, and Harry smiled.

"Hatori." He acknowledged, sitting on the small porch by the pond.

Hatori nodded, smiling a slight smile. He was clothed in a gray business suit with a dark blue tie and a white shirt, indicating that he had just come from work.

"How was work?" Harry asked, as the man sat on the porch by him.

"Hm… It was alright." Hatori shrugged. "And how was your day?"

Harry snorted. "Could say the same. Shigure managed to burn the cookies, Aya chased after me to get me in some new collection of kimonos of his – " he shuddered, and Hatori chuckled, " – Momji found an abandoned kitten .. You know, usual."

Hatori watched Harry fondly as the latter narrated the happenings in the house dryly.

"And Akito? "He asked, his voice low.

Sharp green eyes looked into his. "We talked. He wanted to… well, for us to become a couple."

Hatori bit back a snarl. He really, _really_ wanted to strangle the impudent ex-godling. "And?" His voice was deeper, almost a growl.

Harry ignored it. "Told him, loudly and clearly, he got his chance, and he lost it. Besides, both of us changed. I will always love him on some level, but as a lover…. No." He shook his head, sighting exasperatedly. "Then, the dumbass had to grab me by the shoulder and well..." He smiled sheepishly as Hatori's eyes widened in recognition.

"You _tossed_ him?" Hatori asked, disbelievingly. At Harry's nod, he chuckled. And then, he laughed.

"Bet he wasn't too happy about it, was he?" He managed to get out as he tried to calm down.

Harry grumbled, but his lips quirked up in a smile at Hatori's mirth. He had developed a soft spot for the ex-Dragon Zodiac, but he tried not to think about it too much. Once bitten, twice shy, after all.

They were sitting by the pond in companionate silence.

"Harry?" Hatori asked, and those green eyes looked into his. "I…have a question for you. Please, don't be offended because… well, it's a little…" he fidgeted, unusual for Hatori.

Harry blinked. "Well, shoot." He commented, smiling. "I won't bite… much. I promise."

Hatori chuckled weakly as he loosened his tie. "Yeah… Do you… think of us as friends?" Harry nodded. "Of course! Why wouldn't I?"

Hatori nodded. "Thank you. But…" He gulped, his Adam apple bobbing nervously. "Could you… ever think of me as a … potential lover?"

Harry stilled. "What do you mean?" He whispered, still thunderstruck. A sea green eye looked into his orbs. "I mean… Harry, I have feelings for you. And I would like it if you… if you could give me a chance." Hatori spoke out seriously. "Could you… give us a chance?"

Hatori watched Harry sharply. Harry was so still – but that was natural, Hatori had, after all, dropped a proverbial bomb on him. And Harry knew about his –

"What about Kana?" Harry whispered, closing his eyes. Hatori felt a pang of pain at the insecurity in his voice. He sighed. '_Damn you, Akito. You __did__ a number on him, you bastard,_' he thought to himself venomously. Oh, well, he could always thrash the idiot later. Instead of that, he gently squeezed slender hand laying beside his, making Harry look at him. "We are different people now." He told Harry soothingly, his voice low and firm. "We could have, would have, but we didn't. We had a chance, but that chance passed us by long ago. Besides, she has a fiancé now and I… well, you managed to steal my heart." He smiled bashfully, and Harry's cheeks blushed with embarrassment.

Then, Harry squeezed his hand back, and Hatori's heart jumped with hope. Harry smiled at him, and it was as beautiful as sunrise, as first spring and then -

Hatori heard the most beautiful words in his life. "Let's make our own spring then, ne?"

/*/

Harry barely had a time to yelp before he was tugged into a ferocious embrace, and then his head was burrowed into that strong chest, and he scented salt and the sea and something uniquely Hatori, and that warmth seeped into him, chasing away the chill of loneliness, healing the wounds of his broken heart, and he knew, it would be alright.

It was worth it. All the torture, tears and doubts… and in that moment, he mentally thanked Akito for his fucked-up actions.

It was unintentional, but a welcome surprise, finding out that Hatori loved him, and Harry found himself embracing the man back, smiling blissfully. It had hurt to let go of Akito, but Hatori was worth it.

Always.

**_/The End/_**


	34. Take My Breath Away

_TAKE MY BREATH AWAY_

* * *

_**Disclaimer:**_I don't own _**Naruto**_ or _**Harry Potter's**_ characters; I am only amusing myself with using them in my story. Oh, and the song is _**Take My Breath Away**_, by The Beat Street Band. Wanna listen to it, go to YouTube.

_**Summary:**_Madara and Harry are relaxing themselves on a cruise. However, Madara has some naughty plans for his lover… find out, which ones.

_**Shout Out:**_A spin-off from _**When You Are Gone**_ universe, and a Christmas gift to my faithful beta, _**Moon Howling Banshee.**_ So all hail _**MHB,**_ because without her prodding, this little tease wouldn't see the light of the world so soon. Kudos to her for her prompt editing, and so, this story marks the two years of the existence of Scrapbook Jewels on that site. Gawd, how time flies. I wish you a Happy New Year and success, love and adventures in your real lives.

_**Warnings:**__**AU – verse,**_ not defined which one _(meh),_ some spoilers, and _**SLASH,**_ pairing _**Harry (izuna)/Madara**_. POV change – Madara also stubbornly calls harry Izuna. And oh yeah, this is _**LEMON: **_ meaning, it's **definitely M-rated** and sex involved. Oh, and it's a kinky, kinky little thing. Still here? Go on, read it.

* * *

_Watching every motion in my foolish lover's game_

_On this endless ocean finally lovers know no shame_

He watched his lover fooling around with a couple of kids, his dark eyes warm. It was a happy sight, Izuna playing and laughing with the little munchkins. The kids were locals, with a couple or two from the travelers on the cruiser they were on. Izuna, the good soul that he was, offered to take care of them while their parents were off exploring the island.

If it were any other situation, Madara would have sulked, but here… it wasn't necessary. There were no Uchihas to watch them with suspicious eyes, or any other person that knew them, be it by name or appearance.

His mouth quirked into a content smirk as he caught Izuna's sparkling green eyes as the man looked at him and flushed a little before a little one tugged his hand, chattering at him and offering him a flower which Izuna accepted gracefully, smiling at the little girl who blushed with pride, but accepted the warm hug all the same. That prompted the other kids to also pick up the flowers, and some moments later Izuna was practically showered with flower blooms, laughing helplessly at the children's cute actions, but gave out hugs and tickles just the same.

Izuna was clad in black baggy shorts with small green palms and a light blue sleeveless shirt that was a little too tight, revealing his lithe body, much to Madara's enjoyment. He was tanned from endless hours under the sun, his hair was messier than ever, and his green eyes were sparkling happily, without those dark shadows within them. The necklace Madara had gifted him for their first anniversary hung faithfully around his neck. It was a simple thing, three unusual bluish green stones on a black cord, one bigger than the two that ensconced it, and if one looked at it closer there was a red glint here and there in particular angles of light.

Izuna simply loved it.

Madara closed his eyes and dragged a hand through his hair. It was a little shorter than usual, but only because it was a hassle to deal with his usual mane… not that he complained when Izuna got his hands on it and combed it; the gentle movements were always a pleasure to enjoy, and that was one of the reasons he didn't shear off the bloody annoyance right away. Besides, he was used to having long hair, and the thought of having short hair unnerved him.

He was clothed in dark green capris and a dark blue short–sleeved shirt with a painted white dragon on the back, the buttons undone to show off his trim figure. He had his shades on his head, currently not needing them, as it wasn't so bright anymore and, in some three or four hours, it would be sunset. A gentle breeze cooled his skin, making him close his eyes for a moment.

Here, nobody knew them. They were just two of the travelers that were rich enough to afford to cruise across the world aimlessly, searching for who knows what. They were fairly reclusive, and the older of the two was protective of the younger, green–eyed male, who was kind and gentle , while the elder was cold and intimidating, making the witnesses wonder just how the gentle green-eyed man managed to deal with his companion on a daily basis.

Many women tried to get the elder's attention, as he was eye candy worthy of drooling over, but he wasn't interested. Many men tried to ensnare the younger one – his green eyes and his shyness were drawing them in like some kind of a magnet, not that the target of their attentions knew that. Yet, both sides were rebuffed – sometimes subtly and sometimes outright; it depended on the persistence of the foolish hopeful person that intended to have one, if not both of them for themselves. One more memorable instance was when some hulking man tried to take Izuna for himself; thinking that it was a good idea to intimidate Madara with his title of World Champion of MMA, but the elder Uchiha was _not_ amused. The resulting fight was short and brutal – Madara wasn't in any mood to deal with the fool and really, the idiot didn't have any chance against someone who was old enough to be his grandfather five times over, even if he didn't look like it, not that anyone knew that. Since then, the duo had had peace, even if Madara had to deal with some of more persistent MMA enthusiasts. Izuna just got a kick out of it – it was amusing to see Madara glaring at the hapless idiots that thought to get an interview, persuade him to join some club or whatever.

Generally speaking, they had smooth sailing.

Madara hummed to himself as his lover finally joined him, much to the pouting of his little charges. "Enjoying yourself?" He asked, his voice soft as his eyes darkened with affection.

Harry nodded, chuckling. "Here." He offered his lover another garland of flowers – he wore one around his neck, the vivid colors contrasting starkly against his clothes and skin. A dark eyebrow quirked up. "You really think I would wear this?" Madara asked, amused.

Harry snorted. "For me?" He whispered, his lips stretching in a small smile, making Madara roll his eyes.

"Hn." The man grunted, smirking. "But you owe me, Izuna." Dark eyes looked over him, heating with carnal intent, making Harry shiver with dread and anticipation.

_Uh-oh._ Madara was in one of his moods again…

He gulped, his cheeks heating. "Y – Yes." Madara smirked at him and then inclined his head for Harry to place the garland around his neck. "Tonight." He whispered against Harry's forehead, making the green – eyed man shudder with anticipation.

"Tonight." Harry agreed breathlessly, parting from his lover reluctantly, his cheeks darkening even more.

He looked at the sun that hung a little over the sea, magnificent in its fiery glory, making the sea glow and shimmer as if it were cast from a living gold.

He felt Madara embrace him around his waist, and smiled. Who would have thought that he would have found his lover and brother when he had been summoned to a strange land?

He had been exhausted, what with his magic having been almost depleted and he had wounds, and yet, when he saw those dark orbs, something clicked.

The following weeks were some of the most frustrating ever. The language barrier didn't help, and his strange headaches even less. With that berk insisting on calling him Izuna – Harry had given up on persuading Madara to call him Harry as a hopeless case after a week, because it was just…hopeless. And for some strange reason, that name resonated with something in the back of his skull, like some forgotten memory. Finally fed up with half-communication attempts, he resorted to wandless magic only to be surprised, as he got the Elder Wand popping out of nothing. One translation charm later, and that memorable evening, Madara got the unpleasant surprise of Harry loading onto him a lecture of epic proportions.

Madara had been as happy as a clam, but still insisted on calling Harry Izuna.

Harry wanted to throttle the maniac.

The headaches didn't help, either.

Slowly but surely, Madara chipped away on his resistance, and well, the Uchiha was charming enough for Harry to give in.

And then, shock.

Really, Harry shouldn't have been surprised, but it seemed that he was on karma's shit list or something – because who else would have died and been reincarnated and then fallen in love with his brother from his previous life?

_Harry_ frickin'_ Potter,_ that's who.

It really didn't help that Madara had carried the torch for him ever since he was Izuna. In fact, it made it worse!

Memories were a bitch. On one hand, he remembered his life as Harry, and on the other, he had Izuna's memories – and while he did adore his supposed brother, Izuna was not head over heels in love with him. No. Nope. No sirree. Izuna had even had some short… affairs with women. So no, Izuna definitely wasn't gay, even if he was disturbingly devoted to his brother.

So it was a shock to find out that he fell in love with his own brother. Technically, it was his ex – brother, but still!

It was mind-boggling.

And Harry was extremely flattered, but…

But nothing. Madara had been one persistent son of a bitch, who could also give the dragons a run for their money for hoarding what he deemed precious, and one such possession was apparently Izuna. The asshole didn't mind whether it was the past or present version of his little brother, he hoarded it just the same, and Harry being the Master of Death just insured that he would be hounded by the berk for eternity and then some.

Harry – or better Izuna – knew a losing battle when he saw it, and convincing Madara that it was a bad, bad -the capitally worst- idea ever, to be lovers, was just that. In the end, it was just easier to give in. Sometimes he still felt guilty, but those times were few and far between. Besides, if he was on Fate's shit list, he could at least earn it himself, right?

And well, okay, Madara was a pretty lovable guy… when you got over all those 'Hn' quips and smirks and … well, everything. Not that it was said that Harry was a saint when compared with Madara, because he had some pretty big skeletons in his wardrobe, proverbially speaking. Besides, it was nice to have someone who knew him so well he didn't need to explain to him every little thing he did or didn't do. On the other side, it was a bitch. There was no worse hell than a person who knew Harry better than he himself did - even if Harry had those quirks from his Wizarding life that pretty much spiced up their relationship.

It didn't change the fact that Madara was one possessive little shit any less.

Harry sighed as he looked at his lover affectionately. Yes, their lives were pretty messed up, but he wouldn't have changed it for all the money in the world.

* * *

_Turning every tide in some secret place inside_

_Watching in slow motion as you turn around and say_

_Take my breath away_

_Take my breath away_

The sound of waves caressed Madara's ears soothingly as he stepped into their cabin. It was a luxurious piece, with a comfortable bed and shower, along with a Jacuzzi, and they had a beautiful view of the sea.

The sun was setting, and the night life on the cruiser would liven up in an hour or two. Only, Madara didn't have any interest in night entertainment.

Closing the doors and locking them, as he didn't want anybody to disturb them, he then looked at the slender silhouette at the balcony.

Izuna was… beautiful. He was still clothed in the clothes he had on when he was on the beach, but the sun made his skin glow and his hair even darker than it was. Madara felt his heart jump, as it did every time he looked at his lover. The night was warm and an evening zephyr was moving the small, puffy clouds lazily on the purpling sky.

Izuna turned to him and Madara was once again blindsided with his lover's smile. It was gentle and shy, and Madara liked how Izuna was still a little embarrassed, even after all the time they had been together. Not that Izuna wasn't a little hellcat in bed if the occasion arose, but it was just something more when Izuna behaved like it was his first time.

"Take my breath away." Izuna implored him, a small blush on his cheeks, but his unique green eyes were dark with want and love.

Madara wasn't sure when he moved to embrace his precious little brother, but a moment later he had Izuna in his embrace, inhaling the spicy sweet scent of his unruly hair and relishing in the solid warmth of the lithe body against his.

* * *

_Watching I keep waiting, still anticipating love_

_Never hesitating to become the fated ones_

They watched the sunset together, relishing the chance of being near to each other. Time was too long when they were apart and too short when they were together, and they had been given the gift of a second chance.

That summoning had been pure dumb luck. Madara had intended to summon Kyuubi, but something went wrong with the sealing matrix and instead of that, he summoned his beloved.

It had been a tremendous shock to the still grieving Uchiha – he had gone away from Konoha, as there were too many memories of Izuna there, and even if Hashirama tried to stop it, the Uchiha clan leader was just too stubborn to be convinced to come back – in fact, he had been pissed at the Shodaime-sama for ordering his lover to go on that fateful mission. The resulting fight trashed the valley, which was later on named the Valley of the End. Hn. A fitting name.

He had roamed across the Elemental lands, sometimes alone, sometimes joining a group of merchants or travelers and sometimes protecting some rich merchant or daimyo, always undercover.

Years passed, and Konoha prospered, along with the other cities. Time flew, and Madara was fed up with the people's idiocy and wars. Thus, he enacted his Moon plan, and his starting point was to summon the Kyuubi.

Only, the summoning had – thankfully – gone wrong, and he had gotten his little brother back.

That night… he cried. He cried as he gently washed his brother clean of the blood and while he mended his bones the best he could. He cried as he touched Izuna's body reverently – it was paler now, but not unhealthily so, Izuna seemed to be underfed and on the verge of chakra exhaustion and he had some horrific scars on him – some healed, some recent, and some still healing, but Izuna was here, even if he had green eyes now and his face was a little different, with a stronger jaw and more defined cheekbones, but it was still Izuna, as nobody had such fire as his little brother did, chastising him even on the verge of collapsing. And when he finally got Izuna under the covers of an improvised bed, Madara clutched to his hand like a needy child looking for guidance and safety.

The first days were difficult, as Izuna didn't understand him. However, one day Madara came back and Izuna read him the riot act, speaking as if he never spoken any different language than their own. Izuna insisted on being called 'Hari' but Madara disagreed. Izuna was Izuna, no matter the shape. His brother relented, but glared at Madara for his smug face.

This time Madara didn't pass up the chance. This time he did everything to tie Izuna to himself – he showered him with attention and gifts and generally courted him. It had been all fine and dandy until the night Izuna got the dream about them being brothers.

That particular hurdle almost destroyed their entire relationship. Izuna, both his present and previous incarnation, didn't like to be duped, and what Madara had done was a dupe of epic proportions. A dupe with good intentions… but still a dupe. Izuna had hexed him to hell and back – one memorable time he even changed him into a cute little kitten and gave it to some pink haired nightmare to take care of for a week– Madara still shuddered at these memories. He had repressed them as well as he could, but listening to her talk about pink – haired Uchiha babies...he pitied his descendant. It seemed that Haruno women were still chasing after Uchiha males, even if he had been so very sure he got rid of the menaces. Alas, it seemed that this foolish daughter of Hashirama took a pity on one of them and somehow managed to enable her to procreate.

Fuck. Was this some kind of a specially invented curse for Uchihas? Because they were so perfect, they just had to be the perfect babe magnets for the worst kind of harpy fangirls in the history of fangirls. And no, not every Uchiha was cursed with them – just those who were supremely talented and handsome, of which Madara was both. Izuna was a lucky bastard, being the second born and as such dismissed from the scope of the social ladder. That didn't mean he didn't have them, but his were less…zealous than Madara's.

Suffice to say, the kitten incident ended with Madara practically streaking to Izuna after the week had come to the end, crying big kitten tears, even if that was a biological impossibility to the extreme. After that, he resolved to write to his great-great many times great nephew as to warn him of the impending doom in the shape of pink haired Uchiha babies with bipolar disorder. Luckily, Sasuke was clever enough on his own and avoided the pink haired menace in the widest route imaginable. Unluckily, harpy version number six – or was it seven? – seemed determined to get him to father the babies.

Thankfully the incident also mellowed Izuna out a little, making the hurdle easier to get through, along with Madara pointing out that their relation was a moot point, as Izuna had been reincarnated, and so they were technically total strangers. Izuna gave him a sharp stare for that, but in the end, he ceded defeat to that particular bit of superior Uchiha logic.

From then on, it was only a matter of time until Izuna became Madara's lover in the entirety.

Neither of the two regretted it when it happened.

It was… as if they were fated to happen.

* * *

_Turning every tide into some secret place to hide_

_Watching in slow motion as you turn to me and say_

_My love_

_Take my breath away_

Every time Izuna had said that, Madara's heart began to hammer in his chest like maddened drums… and tonight, it wasn't any different.

"Oh, I will…" he purred out, his voice dark and rough, making his prey shudder in dread of delight as he smirked. He threaded one hand in that thick, messy hair and then he kissed him like he was drowning and Izuna was his last chance to breath.

Izuna whimpered lowly at the demanding kiss, his head tipping back to give more access to Madara for one more of those drugging kisses of his. Madara paused, smiling as he looked at that flushed face, half-shut green eyes and puffy lips. "Take your breath away, hmm?" He purred out, smirking darkly. He watched as Izuna swallowed noisily and nodded slowly, his cheeks flushing deeper.

"You know…you had entirely too much fun without me today," Madara mused, making Izuna emit a whimpering mewl as one of Madara's hands crept back and caressed his firm backside, the touch almost too light to be there.

Madara chuckled again as he nipped that slender throat, the fingers in Izuna's mass of hair gently playing with the sun–warmed strands. He pressed Izuna against the wall, and his hand that was previously on Izuna's posterior sneaked up to toy with the edge of the elastic belt, tugging at it ever so lightly, as if undecided on whether to leave it on or get it off. One of his legs wormed its way between Izuna's thighs, the knee gently nudging until Izuna was practically riding his thigh.

Izuna let out a whimper of desperation as he tried to grind himself against that temptingly firm thigh, but Madara smiled his gentle smile, his eyes alight with a sadistic sparkle.

"Now, little one… it's my turn to have some fun… with you."

He could almost feel Izuna sweat dropping at his possessive proclamation, but it didn't matter.

"You're_… mean_." Izuna gasped out, moaning as Madara fingered the top of the valley of between his butt cheeks.

"And you like it." Madara murmured as he nuzzled his ear and then bit the appendage lightly, feeling Izuna's hands scrabble up his back and grabbing the handfuls of fabric in an attempt to calm himself down.

Slowly, he slid both hands to Izuna's hips and a moment later both of them slid Izuna's sleeveless shirt off of his body.

_/*/_

Harry gasped and huffed at those overly careful touches. Madara was a true sadist when he wanted to be. "Madara…" he half-growled and half-groaned, but his dark-eyed lover wasn't dissuaded from his goal of driving him utterly insane with anticipation.

"You… were very, very naughty, little brother," that dark, velvet voice whispered to him, making Harry shudder with arousal and shame. It was their dirty little not-secret secret, and hearing Madara taunting him like that…

"And for that, you will be punished. Do you want to know how?" Those silky words were breathed into his collarbone now, and there was a tiny nip that made him gasp.

Harry gulped. If he said yes…Madara would tell him and knowing what would happen would have him on the verge of climax and the bastard was cruel enough to stave his relief off for god knew how long. If he didn't ask…. Well, then…Madara was very inventive in his punishments, and sometimes waiting for the other shoe to drop was even worse. So he was between a rock and a hard place… both literally and not.

"N – No?" it was more of a question than anything, and Harry cursed himself in almost the same instant his foolish mouth called his decision out.

Madara smirked. "Good boy." He purred out. "Now, grab the railing and don't let go of it until I say. Oh, and by the way," Madara smirked.

"Bend over."

Gulping, Harry was let out of that possessive embrace and did as Madara bid him to do.

He felt strangely vulnerable, being bent like that, left to mercy of his lover.

"Ah, wonderful. You should have seen yourself, 'Zuna-chan." Madara's voice was heated, and those slender fingers touched his nape, ruffled the hair there and then slowly travelled the expanse of his back, randomly tracing the scars here and there, and then stopping just above that tempting crack. "So very willing and ready… aren't you? You just enjoy this little punishment game, so very naughty you are." Madara's voice was a low purr, before he tugged the fabric of Harry's baggy shorts down almost torturously slowly.

Dark eyes widened in mock – surprise. "Oh… Look what we have here." he muttered, ignoring Harry's pleading whine. "You didn't even put on underwear, and you played with kids…. Oh my, how risky. Only one tug on those little shorts of yours, and you would have flashed your little fans your bare arse or maybe even the front…wouldn't you? I bet you wanted to be caught like that, a naughty little boy you are." Madara's soft murmur dangerously purred out, heightening his heart rate until he was literally panting with… fear? Excitement? Shame?

Madara let the shorts slide down the strong thighs until they were finally halted at Harry's knees, as Harry's legs were too spread to slide down more.

A finger pressed lightly into the crack, following it from the small of Harry's back to the perineum, the touch light enough to be felt, and yet not be ticklish.

Harry jerked; his hips pressing back as he whined. "Madara!" His complaint earned him a big thwack on his ass, making him yelp with shock and pain.

"As I said, naughty and perverted." Madara growled out. "Now shut up and accept the punishment."

Harry's eyes widened, but he snapped his mouth shut. The next blow was lighter, but the third made him flinch.

The next few moments were passed in almost silence as Madara doled out the punishment in the shape of a spanking. It was a tense situation; what with Harry never being able to anticipate where and how hard Madara would strike next, and that uncertainty held him in a state of suspension that hurt almost more than his arousal.

He whimpered.

_/*/_

Madara heard the whimper and smirked. He then stopped and snagged the oil bottle. It was lavender scented with a faint sandalwood note and he tipped it, watching the viscous liquid glint like live amber in the light of the setting sun before it connected with the top of that tempting crack, making Izuna yip as it was cold and Izuna was heated enough that the coolness of liquid could be considered as a minor shock.

Madara then closed the bottle and carelessly threw it somewhere in the vicinity of the chair. His own body was heated at the sight, and his arousal was heavy under his clothes. He didn't tell Izuna, but he was guilty of the same little crime he accused Izuna of doing – not wearing underwear – but hell, it was a lot more practical that way.

Slowly, he dragged his index finger between the two tempting globes, massaging in the oil and listening to the desperate sounds his lover was emitting. He gently scratched the pucker, making Izuna almost jump with desperation and let out a small wail, but his good little brother didn't let go of the railing

_Through the hourglass I saw you in time you slipped away_

_When the mirror crashed, I called you and turned to hear you say _

_Only for today I am unafraid_

Madara closed his eyes for a moment, remembering those dark and dreary days without Izuna beside him. The cold nights without hearing his breathing and his snuffle as he snuggled deeper in the blankets.

His dreams, or, better, nightmares, as he dreamed about his brother calling him, and when he reached after him, Izuna disappeared like a wisp of yesterday's wind.

"Izuna…" he whispered, almost too quiet for his brother to hear.

"Izuna…. Izuna…"

His brother craned his head back, looking at him, green eyes hooded with warmth.

"I'm not afraid, brother…. 'Cause you are here."

Madara almost choked on his breath at those simple words, but his knees didn't hold him upright anymore, and he kneeled.

Izuna's unwavering loyalty and trust…. What had he done to deserve to hold them? What had he done to be rewarded with holding onto his little brother?

He pressed his forehead onto the skin of Izuna's butt, disregarding his mortified yelp, and inhaled that scent that was purely Izuna – living, breathing and warm and pliant, yet firm.

His hands slid onto those slender hips, and Madara frowned inwardly, as he still felt the hipbones jutting out too much for Izuna to be considered healthy.

He nuzzled the underside of Izuna's left butt cheek, playfully swiping his tongue there, making his prey yip.

"Madara! Please, this is – _ah_ – too – embarrassing!" Izuna pleaded, but his body still leaned against Madara's teasing tongue, even if he jerked away when he licked the silver of the inside of that tempting thigh.

Madara slid his hands down the thighs, massaging the skin soothingly, until he grasped the knees and then set on teasing Izuna mercilessly.

"Ah! Oh – Nha!" Izuna gasped, trembling and twitching, and finally, Madara ceased his onslaught on Izuna's abused behind and stood up.

"Mm. You taste delicious, little brother. You are so very obedient… I think you deserve a reward, don't you?" Madara's voice was breathy as he freed himself from his capris, his member already dripping heavily with precum.

Still, he couldn't help himself but feel just a mite bit evil and he teased the greased pucker with just a tip.

* * *

_Take my breath away_

_Take my breath away _

Harry's breath hitched. If Madara ever went in the sex industry, Harry was sure the man would make millions just by teasing his partners to desperation, just like he was teasing Harry right now.

"Madara…. You evil ass…" he growled out, as he felt the head of his brother's erection pressing lightly against his crack, but not entering.

He shivered as he heard a dark chuckle. "Maa… Zuna-chan, it seems to me you are willing to be punished awfully hard today, aren't you?" Madara purred behind him, making him buck back in a teasing movement.

Harry hissed. And then, his breath hitched as he finally felt the bulbous head parting his butt cheeks slowly, and shuddering, he stepped so he gave Madara better access. He was literally burning with need and if he didn't get his –

Slowly, so slowly it almost made him howl with frustration, Madara's member pushed forward, finding his pucker with almost unerring accuracy. Then, there was that uncomfortable feeling of the head pushing through his sphincter, staving off his arousal and twisting his guts in knots of nerves and sensations.

"Gods… Why do you have to be so damned perfect?" he would deny it later, but his complaint came out suspiciously like a whine, making Madara chuckle smugly.

Harry wanted to bristle, but the feeling of being finally filled threw that plan out of the window, replacing it with a deep satisfaction.

Somehow…. Madara managed to take his breath away… every time.

He gasped, arching, and relishing the hold of those strong calloused hands on his hips.

* * *

_Watching every motion in my foolish lover's game_

_Haunted by the notion somewhere there's love in flames_

Madara watched Izuna's back, entranced, his dark eyes changing into the unforgiving shape of the Sharingan. No matter how many times he did it, it never got old. The play of Izuna's back muscles under that scarred skin, the angle of his arch, the black hair on his head curling wildly as he tossed his head back, but still held the railing as if his life depended on it –

He pushed in slowly, and he pulled out after a moment, shivering at the electric feeling of pleasure zinging through his nerves.

* * *

_Turning every tide in some secret place inside_

_Watching in slow motion as you turn my way and say_

_Take my breath away _

_My love_

"What do you want, Izuna?" he asked him, his breath harsher, but still in control. Harry wanted to roll his eyes. Yeah, _of course_ Madara would want to be in control even then, the prick.

The back of his neck was nuzzled, and then, he felt a lick before he was gently bitten, sharp teeth nibbling and worrying the skin between them, sending tiny pinpricks of pleasure through his nerves.

"Y – You!" Harry managed to get out, but Madara purred. "Wrong choice, lover. Magic words, please." One of his hands inched down; playing with Harry's balls idly and Madara slowed his strokes, making him almost tremble with impotent fury and lust.

"P – Please! I – I can't, _can't - !_" Harry choked out, but Madara was merciless. His arousal was dripping white liquid that was falling slowly onto the floor and he was slick with oil and they could be seen if one looked carefully and Madara was being a stubborn son of a bitch –

He gulped and gathered his fraying sanity. "T – Take my… breath… Away."

A pointed jab made him almost whine.

"Close, so very close…" Madara purred. " Try again." In a fit of ire, Harry clenched his inner muscles, making him gasp and jerk.

Deciding to be evil, Harry relaxed and clenched in a rhythm he knew would drive Madara insane with pleasure, a smug smirk on his lips.

He heard Madara gasp and then growl heatedly.

But Harry was feeling merciful today.

"My… Love." He whispered out, but it was loud enough for Madara's keen ears to intercept, and the next thing he saw was the white of pleasure.

* * *

_Take my breath away _

_My love_

It never got old, Izuna whispering those two words to him.

'_My love.'_

Proof that Madara didn't fail, that he still had Izuna with him, and Izuna cherished him and they would be together forever –

He slammed back into the tight passage of his lover, making Izuna almost scream with pleasure, and he himself felt his peak begin building low in his belly and his balls were so sensitive now, slapping against the slicked expansion of his lover's body, his own form was thrumming with sexual arousal, demanding satisfaction, but he would be damned if he finished before his little cocktease of a brother -

* * *

_Take my breath away_

_My love_

Harry almost forgot to breathe, as he just barely had time to adjust to the powerful strikes that jabbed into his pleasure spots so flawlessly; his stomach was cramping uncomfortably and he wiggled a little, feeling wild and perverted, but at this moment, he just didn't care.

Then, the hand slithered up, leaving his balls and stroking his member, dedicating some special attention to the tip, and he was gone.

The pleasure washed over him in a tidal wave and he screamed his release, his hands clenching onto the rail so tight they hurt. He almost rammed his head into Madara's face, but he didn't care, and belatedly, he felt Madara bite him into the neck, as if he were some kind of a vampire and even if he was against the biting, this time, he didn't mind… Much.

Jets of cum erupted from his member and onto the floor, forming a white puddle, as if he were playing with thick white color and dribbled it onto the floor. He knew he should have been ashamed, but right now he didn't care, his legs trembling with effort to hold him upright.

* * *

_My love_

_Take my breath away_

Madara's breath hitched at his own torrent of pleasure. He only had a moment to feel the satisfaction before Izuna's channel grasped him with unforgiving force and almost dragged his pleasure out of him in jerky, uneven ripples that were too random to get used to, even after so many times.

His hips jerked forward violently and he tried to hold back as the sensations were so intense, but it was in vain. Belatedly, he saw Izuna's seed dripping onto the floor in thick viscous spurts of white and it was just such a naughty sight he couldn't help but shudder in pleasure. Yes, it was a joy to corrupt his little brother.

He gasped his breath in, and he felt Izuna's body tremble beneath his as he looked at his clenched hands on the railing.

Moving sluggishly, he embraced Izuna around the waist, not wanting to be separated from him, before leaning forward and gently unclenching Izuna's hands from the rail.

"Come." He said gently, nuzzling the bite lightly as he began steering them to the queen sized bed.

He shuddered with each little step, Izuna's inner wall massaging his spent member weakly.

"You're a certified pervert." Izuna mumbled to him, half-cranky and half-satisfied.

Madara chuckled. "But you still enjoyed it, didn't you?" He volleyed back, before making a shadow clone to help undress both of them.

Izuna weakly allowed the clone to tug his clothes off, blushing at the mess on his thighs. The clone smirked at him and then bent, gently licking away those stray white spots, spreading Izuna's legs wide, exposing his cock and balls.

"Mm… You naughty, naughty little brother. Just look what a mess you made." The clone purred out, and Madara just knew Izuna was blushing like a ripe cherry.

Madara grabbed Izuna's hands before he could cuff his clone on the head and smirked. "He did, didn't he…? So… Let's punish him a little bit more."

_/*/_

Harry emitted a small whimper. Having one cock in him, and being spread so obscenely wide, his balls and cock showing clearly – "But I'm not even dirty here!" He objected weakly, even knowing it would be in vain.

Red and black eyes looked at him as the clone smirked. "We know. But you still dirtied the floor, so…" Dark head lowered down and Harry jerked as his member was licked slowly from the balls to the head. He swallowed heavily as his hips jerked involuntarily.

It just wasn't fair.

… But what a way to go.

Madara's dirty chuckle didn't reassure him one little bit, either.

Harry bit his lips and swore he would get his revenge…. Someday.

**_/THE END/_**


	35. A Kind Of Magic

_**A KIND OF MAGIC**_

_**Disclaimer**__**: **_I don't own _**Harry Potter **_or _**Tron: Legacy**_. They belong to their rightful owners; but this story is mine.

_**Summary:**_ Clu is a little wiser, and what is this? A little Not User on the Grid? The game – and the future changed because one small green-eyed waif.

_**Shout Out:**_ Okay. Tron madness is continuing. Meaning, you are getting a treat, because this little plotdragon won't leave me alone to write out my previous one _/pouts/._ Besides, I already have a small hill of prompts on this story alone so_…/kicks common sense to the curb and revives it/_ Enjoy!

By the way, this works on the thesis that the theory about electricity and magic not working together is one Big Fat Lie. Both electricity and magic are energy, only in different matters; and Flynn's SHIVA matter converter basically lines them along because it writes magic in the right code for a computer to digest it and not have any problems with it meanwhile or afterwards.

_**Warnings:**__** AU-verse**_ and really, I need to lay off from late night bunny-hopping. Excuse me, _plotdragon_-hopping. So this veers off the cannon in both 'verses, meaning _**OOC**_ for _**characters**_ and as for pairing… I proudly present you with _**Harry Potter/Clu 2. **_(Yes, that means this lovely black clad and yellow stripped baddie leader. No, it's not a bumblebee!)

* * *

_It's a kind of magic  
One dream one soul, one prize  
One goal, one golden glance of what should be  
It's a kind of magic _

_('A Kind Of Magic', by Queen)_

* * *

"Clu, you arrogant son of a bitch!"

Clu cocked his head mockingly. He had had his fair share of disagreements with Flynn – his User, but with Flynn breaking their little… agreement, he just called the User by his name. Never, ever would he be under the command of his harebrained Creator and his foolish whims.

However, right now, Flynn was apoplectic.

The reason?

Clu's terms of exit. Either Flynn left Harry here and exited the Grid, or he didn't and he would be derezzed.

He sneaked another glance at the small Not-User that watched the altercation with huge green eyes.

"Takes one to know one, Flynn." He replied back sardonically while perversely enjoying Flynn's useless struggles in Rinzler's grasp.

The User snarled, a deep, guttural sound, like a wild, desperate animal, Clu noted idly, as he remembered from his – Flynn's - memories. User's memories were really very... helpful. In fact, if not for them, he wouldn't have rebelled so very successfully.

"Why, Clu? Why are you doing this?" The man's voice turned desperate, and Clu frowned.

Users and their attachments.

A year ago, real-time wise, Clu had wised up and staged a rebellion against his User. He had heeded all of Flynn's wishes, trying and succeeding in making the System as perfect and efficient as it could get, and then, those User-damned ISO's appeared.

He and Flynn were discussing some of the perimeters for expanding the Grid, when they came.

Like little flames, the harbingers of destruction to come. Of course, Flynn just had to get that excited shine in his eyes and flit around them, exclaiming over them, that they were oh so perfect and '_Clu, look at that, they are so intelligent, like humans! This is radical, man, just radical.'_

Clu felt a kind of dread in his chest at that proclamation, but he still hoped Flynn would get back to their project, because it was at critical point right now, because some information hubs had to be –

Never mind.

First time, he could accept. Second time, okay. Third time, he made the needed alterations as he thought they should have been done, without Flynn's input, and when he attempted to explain them to Flynn, he was waved away absentmindedly _'Yeah, yeah, Clu, good job, man. Now, do you suppose you have any place for the ISO's to bunk?'_

Clu twitched with annoyance. He was not programmed to take this kind of bullshit. Still, he helped shelter the annoying bugs, resolutely listening to Flynn's excited chatter about them being _'radical'_ and a _'miracle'_ and he just wished he could turn back time, when it was only him, Flynn and Tron.

No such chance.

He was done with miracles. If Flynn couldn't see that ISO's were the error in the system, and do something about it, then he would. And so, he began. In secrecy, he learned, reviewed, guided and moved, updating Flynn on the basic things, but those that were truly important, he omitted.

Outwardly, the programs were behaving as usual. There were Recognizers, black guards and so on, all working in perfect order and seemingly awaiting their User's commands.

However, truth be told, their first priority concerning giving orders, was Clu.

It took time, cunning, persuasion and some Repurposing to get the things done, and even more caution, because he was working right under Tron's inquisitive nose, and that was feat in and of itself, but finally, 100 cycles later, the trap was set.

He just needed the user's…_permission_ to create and maintain the perfect system.

And Flynn, naïve little User – naïve little_ human_ user he was – gave it without hesitation.

Tron was the only thing that stopped him from getting absolute power – but with some deresolution and Repurposing, the trouble was solved easily, and Clu now had his little pet executioner, Rinzler, at his feet.

The mightiest protector, now the greatest murderer.

Oh**,** the irony.

And then, one cycle later, the little Not User stumbled into the Grid.

The change was so subtle even Clu almost missed it.

_Almost. _

It was unlike any User signature – not Flynn's**,** not Alan-1's and the ISO's were buzzing with excitement for some reason.

It had been pure dumb luck that he managed to stumble upon the little Not User, the boy's circuits shining a gentle jade and white in the darkness of the Grid, intriguing him, drawing him in, and yet, all the other programs disregarded the boy as if it was normal to have such strange colored circuits. Normally, the ISO's didn't really trust the programs but they treated the boy kindly, and Clu watched the boy laugh happily as he played with that girl, Quorra. And for some reason, he wished he had been the one the boy was smiling so happily at and laughing carefree around.

The raid was successful in a sense that they laid waste to the ISO colony, and a failure, because they didn't manage to capture the User, but that could be remedied – the User knew about the existence of the little Not User and he would try to get the boy out of Clu's clutches.

Clu's prediction was right. And even if Flynn had been a User and as such had power over the Grid in a sense Clu couldn't even imagine – he was a Creator, after all – he held Flynn's surrender in the palm of his hand.

Little Not User.

Clu could demand so much more. User's – Flynn's disc, absolute control, _everything_, and he would be given it, if the little Not User – he really had to find the boy's name - remained unharmed.

Not that Clu had any intentions of harming the boy, but Flynn didn't need to know that.

When he had first touched the boy – only a hand on that slender, too fragile shoulder – he was swept within the feeling of energy, power, _possibilities_ – was that how the Users felt when they were free to manipulate everything? Disregarding allthe laws of physics as if they didn't exist, it was like a Sea of Simulations, and yet, it had some kind of order within this nexus of chaotic power that just waited to be unleashed and used. It was like electricity and yet, it was more than it.

"Flynn." Malicious blue eyes looked into desperate ones of the identical color in the half-darkness calculatingly."I don't need to offer you anything. In fact, I could order Rinzler to derezz you right there and now, take your disc and take on the world. Instead of that, I gave you an offer – get out of the Grid and leave the boy here. And if you try anything foolish from the outside…" He paused, making Flynn gulp with dread as two identical faces stared at other – one with helpless fury andthe other with calm arrogance.

"The boy gets it." Clu finished, leaning back casually.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the boy flinch and immediately, he regretted his words, but it was too late.

"Clu, he s just a _boy._ A _human _boy at that." Flynn whispered desperately. "Living in a Grid is not something I would subject him to. He's too young; he doesn't know anything about programming –"

"You would leave Sam alone?" Clu interrupted the frantic User smoothly, his bland voice bored. "Didn't you promise him to take him to see the Grid?"

* * *

Flynn winced guiltily, blue eyes dimming. Clu smirked slightly at the man's ashamed face and slumped shoulders. The man's scatterbrained chattering about his family finally came in use. He may not be able guilt trip Flynn into perfecting the Grid, but he would have to be derezzed first before he would allow the irresponsible berk take away his boy.

"But –" He tried to protest, even if both he and Clu knew that the deal was just too tempting to pass.

"Harry, you don't need to, not for me. You're still a kid." He whispered, choking out the words with difficulty.

Solemn green eyes stared at Flynn, so different from his son's. Green like leaves in summer, like deepest emeralds and yet older**,** wiser and more understanding.

"I am alone, Mister." The boy told him solemnly. "I don't have parents, even if I wish I had, but they are dead. Sam still has his father." The young voice was small but everyone heard it.

Flynn didn't want to hear it. It was his worst nightmare, not being able to save the little boy that somehow found his way in his old, weary heart. It was true what he told Clu – the Grid was very taxing on the human psyche, and even if biologically looking, he was only 32 years old, chronologically he was 2000 years old and he wasn't even sure he even had all the faculties in his brain in order.

Fact was, he wanted _**OUT.**_ Sometimes, it really didn't pay to be a genius, especially not when his own creations turned against him, and just because he wanted to studythe ISO's a little bit more.

Yet, his conscience just didn't allow him to leave the little man here.

Finally, he sighed.

"Sorry, little man." His voice was full of remorse and guilt, but the boy smiled at him bravely.

"It's okay, Mister. Just…" He hesitated, nibbling his lip worriedly. "Play with Sam for me, will you?"

Blinking the tears away from his eyes, Flynn nodded. "I will. And I'll tell you all about it, and someday – "

The boy nodded. "Yeah." He agreed, his own voice quivering a little.

* * *

Clu watched the boy sharply – he was obviously in emotional distress, and yet, he kept calm, as if it was something usual to get through.

Hesitantly, the boy looked at him, and innocent, yet weary green eyes clashed with his cold blue ones.

"C'mere, kid." Clu commanded, his voice firm. And the boy stepped forward. One step, another – Jarvis tried to protest, but one glare from Clu's eyes silenced him.

And then, the boy was in front of him, at the reach of his arm and Clu touched him, frowning a little when the boy flinched under his hand.

He had noticed that… quirk of a boy's but when Quorra touched him, the flinch was not so pronounced. Yet, when he touched the boy – right now, it was as if the boy expected to be hit or something.

Flynn had that look of grief on his face, but Clu dismissed it as unimportant right now.

"Yes, Mister?" The boy addressed him, lifting his chin up as to maintain the eye contact.

Clu sighed. "Call me Clu, okay? None of that Mister stuff." The boy nodded. "Yes, mi – I mean, Clu."

And Clu felt a thrill spike up his spine, like when he was creating the Grid, when everything was perfect and he smiled at the boy warmly.

The boy didn't quite smile, but the energy humming under Clu's hand was like a small purring kitten cuddling up to his palm in demand of more petting, and those… unique circuits glowed with a soft, soothing jade light.

* * *

Flynn stumbled out of the Grid, his head buzzing with ideas, plans and what not. The journey back was both bitter and sweet – bitter because he had failed on entire line – he failed Clu, he failed Tron and he failed the ISO's and that little boy, Harry.

Grabbing a handful of his hair, he tugged harshly, dismissing the pain in his scalp as a deserved punishment, before he messed up the brown strands.

The price was too much. He narrowed his eyes in a thought. Just _what_ made Clu avert from his plans of world domination? It just wasn't like Clu to let him go without taking his disc and without Repurposing him to boot. Not that Repurposing would have done him any good, but what the hell, with Clu being crazy bastard that he was, everything was possible.

And just what would stop Clu from derezzing the kid if he felt too annoyed by him?

"_FUCK!"_ Flynn's bellow echoed in his cellar, but doing nothing except making Flynn cringe at the echo and the crude quality of sound. In the Grid, everything was clearer, sharper and more precise, even senses, so being back, with senses still attuned to the clarity of the Grid was a sharp torture to his adjusting brain,

Everything seemed wrong.

Scratch that,_ everything_ was wrong.

Since when did he have to be rescued by poor, abused orphan boys just because he was too idiotic, self-absorbed and arrogant about his abilities?

'_Since now, apparently,'_ His subconscious mocked him, and he had to swallow spit – but he may as well be swallowing acid, so hard it was getting to term with his mistakes.

The black screen with the blue command program still running mocked him silently, and for a moment, Flynn wanted to render it into tiny, itty, bitty little pieces.

Yet, when he lifted a fist to smash it down, something stopped him.

It was Harry's little good luck charm on his wrist.

Staring at it, he mindlessly flopped down in the chair, looking at the quaint little thing – some rope and little stones, barely bigger than a grain and it was such a mundane thing and yet –

Shakily, he fingered it, a testament of happenings not too long ago and he remembered the brave little boy and he squeezed his eyes shut.

"I swear to God, Clu – treat the boy right, and if you don't I will rain fire and brimstone upon your holier-than-thou ass worse than anything you could have seen."

His threat echoed weakly in that dusty little room, because as long as Clu had Harry, Flynn couldn't in good conscience shut the system down, and the cocky son of a bitch knew that very well.

Inhaling shakily, he logged into the system to call Alan to pick him up.

* * *

Meanwhile, Harry was being curled up on a sofa – it was all soft amber and yellow shades with a dash of black and outside it was still dark and there was no sunrise or sunset – only inky dark blackness and the weak light from the pale whitish blue circuits that snaked around the tower's edges.

The atmosphere was kind of calm and unnatural with its perfection – the technology here was above anything Harry had ever seen outside, and it was hard to see programs as such, as they were too humanlike to just label them as programs and be done with it.

The bald man with the head shield, Jarvis, muttered and grumbled about his Master acquiring the brat, but he quickly shut up in Clu's presence, but right now, there was no Jarvis or Clu, and Harry was left alone in the room.

The door whooshed, and Harry's head snapped in its direction to see who was entering the room.

He gulped as he saw the dark masked man approach him. The orange circuits were glowing in the dimmed light like magma and fire and Harry swallowed thickly.

The T-shaped sign on his chest was a dead giveaway of the intruder's identity.

"R –Rinzler?" The boy inquired softly, earning a broken purr in return.

Harry blinked. Rinzler was _purring?_ Just what was going on?

Meanwhile Rinzler prowled on, until he came to the edge of the sofa, making Harry tense again.

There was a smaller purr now, more questioning in a sense, sounding almost like a whimper.

Interested now, but still cautious, the boy leaned forward, until his nose was almost touching the black helmet. Mesmerized by the sound, he reached a hand and touched a side of the helmet and the purr increased, making him yelp and quickly snatch his hand away.

Only, Rinzler caught the boy's hand and put it back on the helmet, now purring in a lower and almost pleading tone.

A moment of tension and then, Harry stopped tugging his hand away, making Rinzler nuzzle it softly, like a cat.

"Aw, you are just a little kitten, aren't you?" Harry cooed, smiling. Rinzler cocked his head in question, but Harry didn't clear the program's confusion just who or what _'little kitten'_ was.

"You must be lonely." The boy muttered softly, stroking the plexiglass-like material, now thoughtful. The program relaxed now, usually stiff muscles loosening almost imperceptibly.

Harry frowned at the program's kneeling on the floor. "It can't be too comfortable for you to be down here," he muttered, his eyebrows scrunching in discontent. He then scooted back to the sofa and higher to the armrest, making Rinzler whine at him piteously.

"C'mon." Harry motioned to the program, gently grabbing him for the hand and tugging him up, until the program climbed on and curled against him.

The purring intensified again, making Harry laugh slightly as he idly traced the circuits, his touch light as a feather, relaxing Rinzler into a boneless heap of satisfaction.

Fifteen minutes later, both of them were sleeping; Rinzler curled protectively around his tiny charge, his purr a gentle melody that lulled Harry to dreamless sleep.

* * *

Clu was tired and annoyed. At first, Flynn's death threats were amusing, but right now, they were just tedious. He wanted some shut down – the whole _capture-negotiate-release_ mission may have gone swimmingly, but that didn't mean he didn't have any other duties and Flynn's squawking didn't lighten his mood one bit.

He walked through the rooms until he reached one he designed for the boy…Harry, Flynn called him.

The doors swished open silently, revealing the room and its occupants.

Clu blinked blearily as at first he had seen only one big blob of black and then intertwined colors of orange and jade. He stepped closer, his footsteps noiseless, his eyes trained on the mess of limbs on the sofa.

And there he was… Harry, curled against Rinzler's chest, snoozing peacefully, his eyelashes dark under the dim amber light.

Clu felt a pang of something again – it should have been him instead of Rinzler, but he supposed this was okay as well. The edges of his mouth tilted upward at the cute picture and in a fit of mischievousness, he photographed the duo.

"Flynn, eat your heart out." He murmured, before changing the format of the picture and sending it to the recipient.

* * *

Flynn was working on the loopholes of the Grid, when his computer pinged, signifying he had mail.

Curious, he opened it, and choked on the air.

There in front of him, was a picture of Harry curled against that Rinzler monster, sleeping peacefully. But what really got his goat was the subscription to it.

"As you can see, Harry is well protected and cared for. Now stop bugging me with your unreasonable requests, otherwise I will chuck you straight to the Games the next time you dare to enter the Grid."

Flynn's eyebrow twitched.

Just for that, he would _'gift'_ Clu with several species of bugs.

Cracking his fingers, he got to the work, grinning like a maniac all the while.

* * *

Meanwhile, Clu felt a shudder of foreboding skitter up his spine.

"Maybe I shouldn't have teased him by sending him the picture…" He mused to himself thoughtfully, before smirking.

"Nah. He deserved it."

The Grid Wars were _so_ on.

**_/The End/_**


	36. The Trail We Blaze

_THE TRAIL WE BLAZE_

_**Disclaimer: **_I don't own _Harry Potter_ or _Sakigake! Otokojoku_ or it's characters. I only own this little story as it is.

_**Summary : **_Not Stonewall High. Harry had been enrolled in a school for the toughest, biggest, baddest fucking bastards around - which prides itself on the nickname of being an Hell on Earth. Literally.

_**Shout Out:**_ Okay. I stumbled onto _Sakigake! Otokojoku_ by chance last year and it took me in with its exaggerated manliness, martial arts and overall storyline clichés. So two days ago, I was thinking about possible new crossover, and poking fun at it, and Sakigake! Otokojuku jumped out. Besides, the characters are so _'manly'_ I couldn't resist poking at them a little. And I admit that idea of having Harry representing Otokojoku just tickled me pink in general.

_**Dictionary:**_ For better understaning of phrases used in the story, there's a small dictionary. If there are mistakes, please tell me so I can correct them. Thank you and enjoy!

_C'est impossible!_ - This is impossible! (French)

_Vraiment?_ – Really? (French)

_Affaire nationale_ – National-wide affair (French)

_Affaire international_ – International-wide affair (French)

_Non_ – No (French)

_ORAA!_ – a scream, something like YEAH! (Japanese)

_OSSU!_ – YES! (Japanese)

_Gaijin _– Stranger /Strangers, depends on context– a degrading calling for foreigners (Japanese)

_Chiisai Ryu_ – Little dragon (Japanese)

_Tenchou Gourin Daibukai_ – A tournament to death, organized every four years by Toudou Hyoue – the winner was hailed as one of the strongest, if not the strongest in the world. Otokujoku sixteen warriors entered the tournament with the intention of getting revenge on Toudou Hyoue for his betrayal of his comrades on Sama Island. For more information, look up chapter number 95 in volume number 11.

_**Warnings:**_ AU-verse, totally, in both of the storylines. Overdose of maleness and Edajima Heihachi. Pairing is not resolute yet, but there are hints of _**Himori Hiroto (Harry Potter)/Hien,**_ and _**Himori Hiroto/Ijuuin Kyosuke**_. Oh, and some very overprotective and scary big brothers.

* * *

_Changing legend into fact  
We shall ride into history  
Turn myth into truth  
We shall surely gaze  
On the sweet unfolding  
Of an antique mystery  
All will be revealed  
On the trail we blaze_

(_'The Trail we Blaze', _by Elton John)

* * *

"And with this, the selection of the Triwizard Champions is concluded –" Dumbledore said genially, only to be interrupted by the Goblet being lit once more, and spitting out another scrap of paper.

Catching it, the old wizard blinked.

"The fourth Champion is… Harry Potter?"

And the Hall exploded with noise.

* * *

The Champions were gathered together, waiting for instructions. Diggory was blushing at Fleur Delacour, who was preening her hair, Krum was being his usual broody self and there was silence. Boththe Beauxbaton headmistress and the Durmstrang headmaster discussed something in murmuring voices, Ludo Bagman was fidgeting in the corner, while Barty Crouch Senior was writing something on a piece of paper.

The door opened and all the people watched as the serious looking Dumbledore came in, followed by Snape and McGonagall.

"Gentlemen, we have a problem."

"Waz it iz, Dumbly-door?" Madame Maxine sniffed haughtily. "We would like to return to our carriage az zoon az pozzible –"

"There was a fourth champion."

An ice cold silence erupted in the room.

"What?" Crouch asked first, his sharp profiled face likening on a vulture in the dim light of the room. "Are you sure, Dumbledore?"

The old wizard nodded wearily. "Yes. It was after we sent Mr. Diggory to the room. The Goblet was dark and all, but then, it ignited with a blue light and spit out another paper."

"This is a catastrophe!" Ludo wailed, dark eyes wide as he tugged on his collar. "It's-"

"Be silent!" Moody barked at the theatrical man, fake eye swirling madly. "Dumbledore, tell them just who was chosen as a champion!" His gruff voice brooked no argument.

White eyebrows scrunched in pained regret as the centenarian wizard's shoulders sagged helplessly.

"It was for Mr. Harry Potter."

"What!"

"_C'est impossible!"_

"Dumbledore, he's a squib!"

Snape's incredulous voice silenced the foreigners.

"What do you mean, '_e 'z a squib?"_ Madame Maxine roundedsharply on the hook-nosed wizard, her dark eyes flashing as her impressive bosom heaved with fury.

"Exactly as he said, Madam." Dumbledore interrupted politely. "Harry Potter is not attending Hogwarts, simply because he doesn't have enough magic to do so.**"**

"_Vraiment?" _Fleur breathed out, her blue eyes wide with fascinated horror. "But 'ow did 'e defeat the….You-Know-Oo then?" Krum nodded at her question, also interested in the answer.

"To tell the truth, I don't know." Dumbledore revealed, making Snape scowl and Moody grumble and thump his artificial leg on the floor. "Nobody knows just what happened that night, and the only person who could tell us just what happened that night doesn't remember it. The fact is, somebody threw his name in the goblet, and thus obliged young Harry to compete in the Tournament."

"Do we at least know where the brat is now?" Moody gruffed out, snorting a breath as his eye scanned the room's occupants.

"He was left with his relatives, the Dursleys." McGonagall replied, her lips thinned into a line of disapproval, her eyes narrowing as she glareddisapprovingly at the old headmaster. "Worst kind of people, they are."

"But Harry is safe with them," Dumbledore replied mildly, making her emit a kitty growl.

"Still, how did they manage to enter Harry's name in the goblet? You_ did _employ the Age Line faultlessly." McGonagall continued her voice a tad bit less sharp than usual.

"Hah! Easy! " Moody barked out, making the witnesses jump with fright. "The culprit, whoever it was, used a strong _Confundus _Charm, convincing the Goblet there were four schools instead of three, and then he or she entered Potter as the contestant from the fourth school. Constant Vigilance, I say!"

Madam Maxine glared at the Hogwarts' DADA instructor, before sniffling primly. "Suppose so. Dumblydoor, you realize this will cause an… _affaire nationale,_ no - _affaire internationale, non?"_ She addressed the Hogwarts' Headmaster, her voice dripping with disdain.

"Of course." The old man sighed, seemingly aging a good ten years or so. "For now, let's adjourn the meeting as we should wait for the fourth Champion to arrive."

* * *

Meanwhile, in Japan, one school was particularly lively.

"_ORAA!_ CAN'T YOU SHOW MORE FIGHTING SPIRIT, YOU BRATS!" Onihige's loud, growly voice boomed across the field where the first years were doing pushups. However, these pushups weren't your usual version of 'lower your body and push it up again' pushups. No, the men who were doing it were doing the exercise above the boards with sharp nails turned against their bodies and heavy cement blocks on their backs. If they gave up on supporting both their own weight and the weight of their burden, their chests and stomachs would have been skewered on the iron tips of the boards underneath them.

"STRENGTHEN YOUR WEAK SPIRIT! 300 MORE!" The instructor screamed**,** his brutish old face withan untidy beard fierce in the morning light.

"_OSSU!"_ A chorus of male voices answered them and the tortu – I mean, training, began again.

Nobody dared to complain.

It just wasn't done.

This…was the school for the worst delinquents in Japan, Otokojuku.

The tall bald man was staring at the sunrise, dark eyes thoughtful. Half an hour before, he had received quite an unusual missive from an unusual bird. And the contents of the letter were, to say it mildly…surprising… and troubling.

Had it concerned only him, it would have been be fine – after all, he was Edajima Heihachi, the Peerless, and the Headmaster of Otokojuku; however, the letter was addressed to his ward, Hiroto Himori, and that gave him more than enough reasons to worry.

Hiroto was an orphan. Someone dumped him in front of the Otokojuku – some fat _Gaijin_ bastard – and left him there. Hiroto didn't have any relatives, no one to take care of him, and so he subsequently entered the Otokojuku school when he was only five years old. He had been one of the youngest students to enter and most importantly, survive the Hell on Earth that was Otokojuku private school.

In the years he was there, Hiroto became the unofficial little brother of the elder students and one of the best fighters in the school. Although he had been mocked at first for his scrawny body, Hiroto soon proved he wasn't one to be trifled with. Chiisai Ryu, or Little Dragon, as he was known in the circles of the 'manliest of men', was their biggest treasure, and they would gladly give either limb or life for him if needed be, and Hiroto would've done same for them.

And now, some _Gaijin_ that claimed to be wizards, wanted Hiroto to compete in their Tournament, just because someone was foolish enough to drop a paper with Hiroto's old name on it in some old goblet – never mind the fire. Not that Hiroto went by that name, but still…

Dark eyebrows twitched in annoyance. Edajima would have denied it until he was as dead as a doornail and beyond, but he truly thought of Hiroto as his son and he trusted those Gaijin as much as he had hair on his head – therefore, none.

Even if Hiroto had gone through some of the most dangerous tournaments on the Earth and come out alive – why, just last week, he had returned from _Tenchou Gourin Daibukai. _Competing in that tournament was nothing to sneeze at, even more so because Hiroto was still a boy and competing against grown-up men most of the time, thus sustaining some heavy injuries he still had to heal from; but true to his stubborn nature, the boy was already up and about, skillfully evading his third year watchers. If he hadn't known better, Edajima would have sworn the boy was trained as a shinobi, yet…

It may have been a case here… nobody knew for sure just how many secrets and tricks their little dragon actually had in his sleeves.

Finally, he spoke to someone.

"Send them in."

* * *

Momo hummed cheerfully, enjoying the sunrise and pondering just what would this day bring. He was thankful they had survived the _Daibukai_ –and even more grateful that his little brother was also well.

He had met Hiroto by chance, and he was interested in the young boy –much too young to be enrolled in Otokojuku, which was known for its Spartan methods of training and discipline, yet this little slip of a boy was here and apparently good enough to compete with the third years.

Although he almost did have a heart attack when he had been confronted by the head of the third years, Jaki Daigouin and his right hand, Eikei, in regards to their little dragon. Their message was simple – Harm him in any way, shape or form – and die in the most painful way possible. It was the only time he had been truly afraid of the two men, because the killing intent they emitted was just unreal and even stronger than when he had seen them fight.

It was funny, however, when the two of them had done the same thing to Hien, leaving the master of the senbon needles pale and trembling with terror – not that it stopped him from talking with 'Hito-chan', as they teasingly called Hiroto. It had been even funnier when both of them were dared to wear female clothes and go into public clothed like that - they had been dubbed the 'Pretty Pair' for this, however the instigators suffered the wrath not only of the 'Pretty Pair,' but also Jaki, Eikei, Date because apparently, their little dragon inadvertently attracted an admirer, Ijuuin Kyosuke, much to Hiroto's big brothers' disgruntlement and Momo's amusement. The carnage that day had been legendary.

Ijuuin had backed off, but swore to be back, despite of the rather large killing intent Date and Eikei were aiming at the easygoing man. However, from then on, all of the Otokojuku had to swear that they wouldn't play such mean pranks on Hiroto anymore - despite Hiroto being able to give back as good as he got - but Hien was still a free target in the games. The redhead hadn't been happy and he had gone through a record number of senbon that day to prove his point, before getting out of the 'unmanly' clothes and stealing Hiroto to go get ice cream. Nobody dared to follow them, because Hien had threatened – loudly and clearly– that anyone who spied on them would get a senbon needle through his balls. And seeing that Hien was scarily good with his aim, his speed having improved even more, nobody dared to sacrifice their little baby makers for the sake of the knowledge of just what was going on between them on their little not-date.

But right now, the principal was calling for him, and he idly wondered just what was in store for them this time.

* * *

"I am the principal of Otokojuku, Edajima Heihachi."

They listened to the standard greeting of their leader – and it was reassuring to hear it, but this time, the principal's face was somewhat… troubled.

"I called you here because Hiroto had been entered in a Tournament without his approval." The previously lax atmosphere became tense at those words.

The men stiffened, Jaki and Eikei growled threateningly, while Momo narrowed his eyes and Hien quietly snarled in fury.

"How did it happen?" Date asked, his voice soft and cold, absentmindedly fingering the hilt of his spear.

Edajima sighed. "Hiroto's old would-be school is special." He revealed, dark eyes troubled. "Apparently, the stories about wizards and the like are true – they have their own schools, society and so on, but they are hidden from us, normal folk." The mustache twitched sardonically at the wide eyes his students made at hearing the information. "Hiroto – or Harry, as they knew him, was born as a wizard, but when he was one year old, some Dark Lord attacked him, killing his parents. Somehow, Hiroto survived. His survival also left him without his magic and thus useless to them so they gave him to his mother's sister to raise. Long story short, they loathed the thought of even feeding him, leaving him here when he was five years old."

"I'll _kill_ the bastards." Hien was fuming, dark blue eyes blazing with anger, already holding some of his senbon needles, ready to attack.

"Get in line." Jaki ordered the redhead brusquely, with Eikei grunting the affirmative. Hien gave him the evil eye, but subsided.

"They have the Triwizard Tournament here – three schools competing for the Championship, each sending in one representative. Somehow, Hiroto was also chosen, and now he is obliged to compete or forfeit his life."

The atmosphere in the room was now absolutely thunderous. They were no strangers to life-or-death matches, but this was justa cowardly way of forcing someone to compete.

"He is not even completely healed yet." Momo muttered, dark eyes troubled. "And with them having the advantage of magic – "He swallowed, a ball of dread burning in his stomach.

"And that's why I am sending all of you with him." Edajima interrupted him sternly. "He may not be magical anymore, but that just means he needs our support more than ever. Besides," Edajima's half-frown turned into a feral smile "It's a chance to show them just who they're messing with."

The dark faces smirked and eyes shone in bloodthirsty glee. "Mess with the best, die like the rest, innit?" Momo asked lightly, but everyone in this room knew that whoever it was that got his little brother in this mess would have a hard time making it out alive.

"Exactly. I am the Principal of Otokojuku, Edajima Heihachi." Their principal nodded at them regally.

"Dismissed."

The wizards wouldn't know what hit them.

Literally.

* * *

The reply came back in the shape of a roll, and when Dumbledore unrolled it, he saw elegantly written kanji.

"_Dumbledore-san._

_I am the Principal of Otokojuku, Edajima Heihachi. Your letter was an unwelcome surprise, although it did help piece together the history of one of my students. _

_I will be sending Himori Hiroto to compete in that tournament of yours, along with some of my other students who will be acting as his guards and witnesses of the event. They will make their own lodgings and take care of their food so you don't need to provide for them. Because you wizards are a nosy lot, I warn you now – leave them alone. They have my permission to use force to defend themselves, in any way, shape or form they deem necessary, even killing the perpetrators if need be. Tell the others that, because this is the only warning I will ever issue concerning their behavior. They are honorable men and I would trust their words over yours any day, so don't test my patience any more than you already have. _

_Signed,_

_The Principal of Otokojuku, Edajima Heihachi._

Swallowing heavily, Dumbledore flopped into his comfy chair.

This letter was almost radiating the power of Harry's Headmaster, and that Edajima wasn't a man to be trifled with. The words had the weight of someone who had true power at their disposal, and even if Dumbledore had been relieved that Harry was apparently alive and well, he also dreaded the appearance of these Otokojuku students something fierce.

He swallowed heavily as he rolled the letter back into its previous shape.

Maybe it wasn't such a great idea, forcing Harry to compete in the Tournament, after all…


	37. Psychodrive

_PSYCHODRIVE_

* * *

_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own _Harry Potter _or_ Battle Royale_ – both of them belong to their respective owners. I only own this story as it is.

_**Summary:**_ AU-verse: Kiriyama Kazuo contracted a severe case of mine-itis, courtesy of one Harry James Potter. And Harry certainly didn't wish for another psycho stalker to follow him home… even if he was from another dimension.

_**Shout Out: **_Yeesh, how time files. Well, time and stories go on, and I blame one of you for letting out the plotdragon that stopped in tracks all my other projects, fiction or real life ones. You know who you are, and I hope this story would prove to be an interesting read – it certainly was a challenge to write it out!

_**Warnings:**_ _**AU-verse**_ (Again. _Yay._), mucked up timelines and a little OOC Kiriyama. Pairing is _**Harry Potter/Kiriyama Kazuo**_ – this is _**SLASH, **_so beware. I warned you. Some gruesome images here and contains hints of spoilers for part of _Battle Royale_ timeline. Oh, and there are **_multiple POV's -_** when I write Kiriyama, his POV is written as Kiriyama - otherwise, for Harry's and omniscent POV's, Kiriyama is mentioned as Kazuo, except when Harry is pissed with his psycho addition. Because Harry is not close to the kids in Battle Royale, he uses surnames to address them, as it's Japanese custom for calling acquaitances.

**_Dictionary:_**_Gakuran jacket_ - the jacket of the Japanese scholastic uniform worn by male participants of school. Classic _gakuran_ has a high and rigid collar and big brass buttons; usually worn in combination with black pants.

Originally, Japanese scholastic uniforms appeared at the end of the nineteenth century, modelled on the contemporary European uniforms, particularly on uniforms of the military cadets of Prussia.

The correct way to wear the _gakuran_ is with the collar very straight and all the buttons closed. Who instead wears it with open collar or with open buttons he comes identified like a "bad guy" in the scholastic context (and yes, this is Kiriyama)

_Sano Proxima:_ A healing charm, very high level, usually as surgery slash energy healing for internal organs. Goot point is that after using it, the organs are returned back to it's healthy state, but downside is that for perforning it, there are needed at least three experienced Mediwizards, because it's a bitch on magic reserves as it saps energy like crazy. Usually the wands transfer amount of energy/magic to injuried organ, temporarily supporting it and lending additional hand to help the cells to multiply and grow up faster in a very short amount of time- It also can be done wandlessly, but this course almost guarantees the user falling in a deep coma or dying shortly afterwards.

* * *

_Feelings are not supposed to be logical. Dangerous is the man who has rationalized his emotions."_

David Borenstein

* * *

The room was dark and lit with some candles. It held an oppressive feeling – old, scratchy floor boards, an ancient oriental carpet whose pattern had already faded into indecipherable blobs of color, and intimidating dark shelves that were filled with old texts. Surprisingly, the texts were in a better state than the room was, with the exception of the small settee and coffee table – which were still looking out of time, if not out of use. The fire was merrily crackling in the hearth, its cackle an uncomfortable counterpoint of sound to the tense silence, which was only occasionally interspersed with the frantic mumbling of the young, bushy-haired woman who had been pacing up and down the free length of the floor, obviously waiting for someone.

She was not tall, her face was slender, and her bushy mane had long ago escaped its confinement in a ponytail. She was clothed in dark blue jeans and a maroon pullover, and her feet were clad in comfortable shoes. She moved swiftly, yet with a jerky undertone to her movements that indicated she was tired and only her formidable iron will was holding her up. That, and numerous cups of coffee, as indicated by one such example, which was painted in red with a golden lion stalking around the surface proudly, before roaring soundlessly ad disappearing on the other side of the cup again. The cup was already drained and only the lukewarm dregs remained of the aromatic liquid.

"And if I calculated wrong?" The young woman muttered to herself, worrying her lower lip absentmindedly. "Oh… there are _such _a number of things that could go wrong…. Ron was right, I am such a know-it-all –"

She sniffled, her eyes glassy and desperate as she finally gave up and sat heavily on the settee. Her slender shoulders shook with the force of suppressed sobs, and her muttering digressed into small whimpers of despair.

That, my ladies and gents, was one Hermione Jean Granger – the brightest witch of her generation, decorated war heroine and right now… the fool who had the misfortune of having walked the road of good intentions and come out for the worse.

The war had ended with the victory of the Light side, however, they had suffered hard losses too – almost half of the young generation that decided to follow the banner of the Order of the Phoenix had been killed, were permanently injured or had suffered Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. The dark side had lost a third of its members permanently, and most of the young generation would bear the scars of the war – either physically or mentally – for years to come.

And in the middle of it all, there had been a Golden Trio. Harry James Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived and Savior, Ronald Bilius Weasley, the Strategist, and Hermione Jean Granger, the Brain of the operation. Three inseparable friends that had gone against all odds and somehow managed to get out alive and relatively unscathed.

The rebuilding of the Wizarding World was slow and with media having a heyday with the Boy – no, _Man_-Who-Won, there had been extra pressure on Harry, who had already resented being in the middle of the attention.

At first, it was all fine and dandy. Hermione was happy that all of them were alive, and she had gotten her parents back, Ron enjoyed his little bit of spotlight full-throttle, and Harry bore with it in hopes of the rumors and accolades winding down.

But then, it all crashed down. It all began one evening at the Weasleys, where both Hermione and Harry came to the dinner. The bushy-haired witch gulped as she recalled the happenings.

At first, the dinner was good - the chat was friendly, the food good as ever and definitely a change from the grub they had to eat while they were on the run – but then, _she_ just had to ruin the fun, didn't she?

Harry had broken up with Ginny out of safety reasons - the Weasleys, no matter how good-natured they were, would not forgive him if he – either deliberately or not – put a baby of their family in the danger. Both of them parted on amicable terms, with a tentative promise to continue their relationship after war.

However, Ginny seemed determined that it was now a good time for her to become Mrs. Potter, and she had hinted at that particular tidbit of information quite heavily. Harry – well, Harry didn't want to accommodate her, much to hers and Mrs. Weasley's dissatisfaction. He explained that quite clearly, but both of the women still pushed and well…. Harry exploded.

He was tired, barely fit to be out of the hospital and he just wanted some peace for himself, damn it. Was that too much to wish for? And no, peace didn't include one Ginevra Molly Weasley in any way, shape or form. Just because they had once been a tentative couple didn't mean he should immediately begin to prepare for a wedding!

Mr. Weasley tried to play the peacemaker, but both Molly and Ginny were unrelenting on the issue, finally pressing Harry into storming out and declaring he would rather live in the Muggle world than deal with the Wizarding World's unreasonable expectations heaped on his shoulders. He was still only a teen, for fuck's sake!

The evening after Harry's untimely and furious departure was uncomfortable, and Hermione had to bear the brunt of Mrs. Weasley's tirade on what was– by her standards– the appropriate behavior and life style for the young man who had stormed out in a fit of righteous rage. That diatribe also included her and little Ronnikins and when they would tie the knot already - Hermione shuddered as she remembered that particular conversation.

Really, she loved Ronald, but being a baby maker and housewife at seventeen? Not a damned chance. Fortunately, Ron agreed with her views, but only because he was still high on being famous and he enjoyed all the perks the fame entailed.

The next day when she visited Grimmauld Place - Harry's property, which was still warded, with Harry being the Secret Keeper to keep the masses away– she had found Harry in the middle of furiously packing. She was never so grateful for Harry's apparent inability to pack by magical means. Long story short, she somehow managed to convince him to accept her Portkey to Japan – but only when it was already activated, Hermione found out that it had been one of the experimental Portkeys she had been tinkering with and –

Oh, _shit_

* * *

She had cursed her inquisitive nature quite often since then. The ironic thing in all the fiasco was that her hypothesis was apparently correct in a sense – she had managed to create a Timeline Portkey.

It took long hours of calculating, re-calculating, and calibrating the said calculations just the right to get the desired effect, but as always, with one Harry James Potter thrown in the mix, her plans were shot to hell. Add that to the fact that the Portkey she had given him was untested and she could be – if anyone found out - tried for a first degree unintentional murder via Portkey.

It took a week. A week when she had to reverse engineer the Portkey, revise the calculations, add in the factor of the homing beacon and _God,_ if this succeeded, Hermione swore, she would find herself a nice desk job far, far away from any kind of experimenting, and she would stick strictly to the Muggle science. Besides, it was Harry's penchant to get into trouble, and not hers!

Sighing tremulously, her lips moved in a silent prayer. Her fingers entwined with each other, as she lowered her head into her hands.

_Fifteen minutes…._

Fifteen minutes and then, she would know, whether she succeeded or failed.

The longest time of her life….

* * *

_Tick_

_Tock_

_Tick_

_Tock_

The old wall clock ticked away, its dual tone, with its_ tick_ a little both higher than the _tock,_ almost a mocking representation of what had been, what was here and what would and wouldn't be….

Hermione almost growled as she grabbed a fistful of her bushy mane. She glared at the clock, wishing for it to explode into smithereens, if only that she would be safe from that infernally monotone sound.

She was tired to the point of exhaustion, cranky and frankly, she was pissed. When one Harry James Potter returned, she would personally wring his pretty little neck for daring to make such a mess out of her!

Even if there was the infamous Potter luck thrown in somewhere, that didn't mean Harry just had to go anywhere and spread his own unique brand of chaos!

She had thrown a pair of logs on the hearth, making the flames greedily devour them, brightening a room a little. She looked at the clock.

Two in the morning,

Just. _Wonderful._

Narrowing her eyes crankily, she resisted the urge to scream.

Ten minutes before, she had sent the reverse Timeline Portkey to Harry's location – hopefully the darned thing reached him - but with the time window closing down rapidly - the Time Portkey, unlike its regular counterpart, was good only for a set amount of time, because it incorporated the combination of Time Turner and Portkey, and with Locator Charms thrown in, the entire thing was one hell of a lot work to stabilize, lest the user explode into prafactors upon using it.

It had been Hermione's biggest pride and, if the fucking thing didn't work as it should, it would become her greatest failure.

And really, Hermione Granger didn't do failures.

Until now.

Three.

Two.

One….

_Nothing._

Hermione exhaled a disappointed sigh.

"What the fuck did I expect? A miracle?" She slowly muttered to herself. Tiredly, she stood up –

_CRASH!_

"-fucking damn it! Kazuo, you son of a bitch!" Those nine words were the sweetest ones the bushy-haired witch had ever heard from her irate green-eyed best friend, who was, at the moment, buried under the mass of a…

Hermione blinked.

_Oh._

Well, wasn't _that_ a surprise.

* * *

One Harry James Potter was not a very happy camper at the moment. Between the unintended trip to literally nowhere, somehow managing to get included into the class that was later on revealed to be a nest for budding murderers, unintentional they may have been, somehow becoming the focus of attention of one of the favorite psychos and surviving the game with all his wits and nerves intact, upstaging a coup and then getting thrown back in his timeline – at least he thought it was his timeline, and having the psycho hijack his drive – no, he was grumpy, tired and ready to wring the neck of his favorite – _not!_ – bookworm friend for the stunt she had pulled with her…. Supposedly _harmless _Portkey.

Besides, his shoulder hurt like a fucking _bitch,_ after stopping a bullet that was intended for the fucking son of a bitch that somehow managed to follow him home.

God damn it.

Why was he such a magnet for psychos everywhere?

First Voldemort, then dear little Bella, then Fenrir, Voldie again, and no, Snape didn't count in that category, despite of his utter, black hatred of Harry's father, Voldemort again, then that fat pig, Kamon Yonemi.

And let's not forget his… unintended – _yeah, right_ – little passenger… one Kiriyama Kazuo.

A true blue psycho, if he ever saw one… and what was worse, the brat was a genius of the highest order.

Shame he was a soulless robot without feelings besides his severe case of mine-itis, though.

Thus his passionate description of the aforementioned psycho as a son of a bitch.

Harry glared at the…youth… balefully. If glares could have killed, then the tall, handsome teen killer would have already been buried six feet under… at least fifty times and counting.

Because it was _so_ not a good idea to stick a war veteran with one psycho kid without emotions – the bad thing was that Harry still had his emotions, and said psycho kid was utterly unafraid of the Boy-erm,_ Man_-Who-Won and his capabilities of unleashing a pretty green light that killed anything alive on its way.

Swallowing down the contents of his stomach, he grabbed the youth for the lapels of his damned jacket and pulled the bastard so that they were nose to nose.

"You know what? I am in a right mood to kill you." He began pleasantly, swallowing to force the remains of the travel sickness down, and blatantly disregarding a bushy someone for the moment. "With, oh, I dunno, a little dose of _Cruciatus_ or maybe _Flagellatio_ or –"

"_Harry!"_ He ignored the bushy something's horrified gasp, his green eyes staring sharply into dull, dark brown ones.

"I thought that we agreed to leave killing behind." The youth's voice was smooth as he stared emotionlessly into his captor's furious face. The cut above his right eye throbbed with pain and his stomach was vaguely uncomfortable from that shot Kawada-san had hit him with before Harry managed to tackle him down and keep him here for a time.

It was only because Harry had assured him he would go with him that he had left the three alive and he even helped to stage a coup in the last phase of the Program.

That and he wanted some more of Harry's kisses.

Harry's right eyebrow twitched at Kazuo's matter of fact tome.

"Unfortunately you're right." He groused out unhappily. "Now, get off of me – you're not getting any lighter!" He bit out, before lightly shoving Kazuo away.

"Harry?" The bushy-something voiced hesitantly, making the dull-eyed youth whirl around and point the Ingram MC-10 gun in her direction, making the girl flinch back, before Harry firmly grabbed the arm that held the gun.

"No. She is a friend."

Slender dark eyebrows narrowed in confusion for a moment, before the youth lowered the gun, prompting a relieved sigh from the witch.

"You owe me a kiss." He informed Harry calmly, leaving him to splutter, while he stood up, straightening his jacket.

"You are a jackass." Harry grumbled back, when he got his wits under control, before yelping as he was full on assaulted with a happy, crying bushy haired missile of death hugs.

"O – Oh, Harry! I am – _sniff _– So happy you're –_sniff_-back!" Said missile bawled into Harry's chest, before it was roughly torn away and unceremoniously chucked back from where it came, prompting twin yelps of surprise from the pair of hug-participants.

Dazedly, Hermione shook her head, before looking back at Harry, who was at the moment in the hug of a beautiful stranger.

Emotionless brown eyes looked at her, making her involuntarily shudder.

And then, the stranger spoke.

"Mine."

* * *

It was Hermione's turn to splutter, while Harry glared at the stranger half-heartedly, obviously used to such… expressions of possessiveness from him.

"Wh – What?" The bushy haired witch managed to get out, absentmindedly leaving Harry to his devices – i.e. in the stranger's embrace.

"Kiriyama, she is a _colleague_." Harry calmly interjected, before tapping the stranger's left hand, which was quite possessively wrapped around his waist. "And I really need her to take care of my wounds."

"Harry? Who is he?" Hermione asked tentatively, finally noticing the state her friend was in.

Harry was clothed in dark gray trousers with his running shoes and once-upon-a-time white shirt with a black _gakuran_ jacket. His face was pale, sweaty, and withdrawn. It reminded her of those dark days, when they had to run and hide and do just about everything to take down the Dark – Voldemort. Only this time, his eyes were even wearier looking, a little deader than before, and she gulped.

Wherever she had foolishly managed to send him, it was obviously not a pleasant place… and that was saying it mildly.

His palms were cut by something sharp, but it didn't seem like he was in pain - but Hermione supposed, when you had felt the Cruciatus curse as often as Harry had, all other pain just didn't register.

In comparison with him, his… companion seemed to look as if he stepped out of a magazine or a photo shoot.

Pale, delicate looking, clothed in the same ensemble as Harry, but his was a little less dirty, with the jacket put around his shoulders, his left hand wrapped possessively around Harry's midriff, while his right still held the gun, ready to fire at a moment's notice.

Black shoulder length hair was slicked back, with the exception of a small lock that fell in the middle of his forehead. Those dead, empty brown eyes stared at her, into her soul and found her…. Unimportant. Thin, sensuous lips were held in a straight line, expressing neither like or dislike, thus creeping her out even more.

She shivered involuntarily, feeling like prey in front of a predator, a mouse to the tiger.

"This," Harry's voice rang out, cutting off her musings, "Is the supreme pain in my ass, one Kiriyama Kazuo." He grouched out, before glaring at the stranger – not stranger anymore, she supposed. "Kiriyama, she is Granger Hermione, my colleague and _no_, you are _not _allowed to kill her."

She stared. "Harry… Did you have to pick up another psycho?" She asked slowly, as she stood up, wincing a little – that Kiriyama fellow was stronger than he looked.

Harry eyed her flatly. "Ya think I_ intentionally_ collect them?" He deadpanned, before finally getting out of that human octopus' – oops, Kiriyama's embrace. "So sorry, but the latest addition is definitely your fault." He glared at her, making her flinch in guilt.

The bushy-haired witch bowed her head remorsefully. "I am sorry, Harry. It was a mistake - I gave you one of my experimental Portkeys –"

"I noticed," Harry interrupted her dryly as he slowly headed to the door. "Now I want a shower, bandages and some healing and pain-relief potions."

Hermione nodded in defeat. "Okay. I will bring them to your room." She whispered, brown eyes dark with guilt. "Do you, er, need help getting up the stairs?"

"Help would be – " Harry began, before he was interrupted.

"I will take care of him." Kiriyama spoke out, his tone finite, making Hermione jerk back and Harry glare at him.

"I don't need your assistance, Kiriyama." Harry practically hissed at his uninvited house guest. "Besides, you have to take care of yourself too – "

Kiriyama stepped closer. "I will take care of you." He repeated; his intonation flat as if he didn't care either way.

The resulting stare-off got Hermione nervous with its intensity. Infuriated green versus emotionless brown.

For a moment it seemed that Harry was likely to explode at… Kiriyama's … offer, but by some miracle, he managed to can it and whirl around, away from the irritating brat.

"After you tend to your injuries." He gruffed out, before stomping – more like hobbling off – to the bathroom.

* * *

Hermione gawped at the retreating back of her friend incredulously. Never, _ever,_ did Harry concede to anyone so easily like he had done just a moment previously. She looked at Kiriyama with wonder in her eyes. The stranger still stared after Harry, no visible expression on his face, making her shudder. He was a live doll, with how perfect he was – with the exception of his clothes and some wounds, he was as if he had stepped from some photo shoot.

"How the hell did you manage to get him to give in?" The question flew out of her mouth faster than she could censor it, and she flushed as Kiriyama looked at her.

"He's mine." The answer had the bookworm twitching in annoyance. As curt as it was, it also revealed nothing of this confusing…. arrival's intentions toward Harry."

She sighed. Damn it. It was too late – or was it early? For this kind of shit. Her brain was on a crash down right now, as numerous cups of coffee sludge ran out of her system, leaving her empty and without energy.

"To hell with it. I can always interrogate you tomorrow… today… whatever." She grumped out, rubbing her face tiredly and wondering if she would manage the trip to the guest room.

"Listen. I am tired, annoyed and I would like nothing more than to throw you into some dark closet to make passionate love with couple of Boggarts, but it seems that Harry wishes you to stay with him… somewhat." She gifted him with a piercing look which would have unnerved any ordinary wizard, but this – man was apparently immune to her evil psycho bitch vibes. "So you will help Harry with his wounds – I presume you know how?"

At the youth's nod, she continued, her voice a little less sharp. "Okay. His room is a floor higher – follow the staircase and mind the third and fifteenth step, because they are tricky and you really don't want to have a sprained ankle - go straight and the third room from left is Harry's room. As for the guest rooms, they are on this floor – if I remember correctly, the Gryphon room is currently unoccupied – it's right across the staircase."

With that, she abruptly turned to the door and walked out not even deigning to tell Kiriyama goodnight.

She was a nice girl usually, but as nice as she was, right now, her priority was sweet, blessed divine sleep.

Fuck niceties.

* * *

Harry managed to stumble into the bathroom without any complications. His vision was fuzzy and he was slightly sick from Hermione's newest torturing device; whatever she called it, Harry would have sworn on his magic that damned thing was _not_ a Portkey by any means. It was even worse, and that said much about it.

The room was dark, illuminated with a weak white light above the mirror – it was round and like a marble in consistency, only it was illuminated from within. It reminded him of Muggle light bulbs, but this one was cold to the touch, when he was curious enough to touch it –

Sighing wearily, he began to strip, hissing slightly as the fabric slid over the gunshot wound. He had acquired a heap of bruises in various shapes and forms in the course of his little adventure and he suspected he was still in shock somewhat - being picked up by a regular bus full of graduating school children and then being forced to kill the aforementioned kids in an attempt to save his life was not his cup of tea. He would have retched, but his stomach was blessedly empty, and only an uncomfortable churning reminded him of his reality.

God damn it. Was the world screwed completely or was it only him who had always gotten the short end of the stick? His hand twanged uncomfortably – he would have to get the shards out soon, and it would hurt like a bitch but it couldn't be helped. He took down the_ gakuran_ jacket and shirt first, carelessly chucking them on the floor, before toeing off the shoes and flicking them away in some corner. Then, the belt.

He undid it slowly, awkwardly, as if it was his first time to do so. The trousers and briefs slid off of his hips smoothly and he stepped out of them woodenly, his eyes sightlessly looking on the floor as he tried to … try what?

He already forgot.

The undershirt clung to him like a second skin, smelling of jungle and sweat and gunpowder, making him gag at the memories those particular scents evoked. He shivered at the cool hair touching his skin and –

Green eyes widened.

"Don't you have any concept of privacy?" He hissed at the intruder, but not bothering to turn.

"Should I?" A familiar monotone voice answered him, making him glare at the poor wall.

* * *

The girl had left him alone as she stomped away in a huff, leaving him to figure out how to get to Harry's room.

The house was dark and most of people would have termed it as creepy. Kiriyama Kazuo felt nothing. It was only an old house, nothing less and nothing more. Finding Harry's room was relatively easy, and he didn't pay any mind to the curious portraits that looked at, whispered and murmured to him. They were of no consequence.

Harry's room was a simple thing. Green walls with a motif of silver waves here and there, a four poster bed in darker green and creamy pillows, with almost austere wardrobe and a couple of high backed chairs with plush emerald green pillows embedded into the back and seat places. Nothing more and nothing less.

He spotted a door in front of the bed and headed to it.

And he had come just in time to see Harry disrobe of trousers and briefs.

The young man was moving sluggishly, no doubt because he was tired and still in shock, his mind whispered to him, as he quietly entered and soundlessly closed the door, his eyes still trained on the slender form of the green-eyed wizard.

His legs were long and slender, almost too thin - but then, Harry was still too thin for anyone's comfort, almost verging on being underfed, and the months of warfare before this latest fucked up excuse for an adventure happened didn't help any in the long run.

Kazuo saw bruises – some larger, some smaller – dappling the pale skin that was littered with scars and patches of various shapes and states of healing. A shiver jolted through him - something both satisfying and unpleasant and entirely unnamed that made this… place on his head throb with vicious force for a moment.

That wild hair was oddly limp, and the white undershirt came down to the wizard's hips, leaving the lower part of his buttocks naked for Kazuo to see.

And he saw the wizard tense, as if he had knew that he was watched – Kazuo knew that his companion had some kind of a sixth sense in those matters.

"Don't you have any conception of privacy?" The wizard hissed out, his voice tense and his shoulders slightly hunched forward, as if expecting an attack. That was confusing, because Kazuo didn't intend to attack him… at least not right now.

"Should I?" Kazuo muttered back, before approaching his Harry steadily, dark eyes looking over those tensed shoulders, immediately zeroing on the injured shoulder.

"Yes." Harry bit back out sulkily, as he headed to the shower in an attempt to escape his … whatever Kazuo was. "I would appreciate if you would get out."

However, Kazuo had different thoughts on the matter. "You already lost a good amount of blood." He pointed out calmly, as one of his hands snuck as quickly as a snake around the grumpy boy wizard's waist. "It would be safer if I am with you."

He felt Harry groan against him. "Listen, this is nothing. I've had worse. Now, let go of me, and get out."

Wordlessly, Kazuo led him under the shower head and started the shower, making Harry splutter at the water's coldness, until the temperature gradually began to rise.

* * *

"Kazuo…." Harry growled out, as he trembled in those strong hands. The cold water was a shock for his system and he almost lost consciousness. Despite of his stubborn insistence for Kazuo to leave him alone, he knew it was probably for the best that the brat attended to him. He had lost a good amount of blood between that shot and their last skirmish, and Hermione's little gadget didn't help matters get any better.

They stood under the shower, the water soaking them thoroughly – Harry was wet as a drowned mouse, and Kazuo just plain didn't care about his clothes. The scent of jungle, dirt and blood spread in the small room, and the red streaks were being rinsed off of the skin and clothes.

Harry turned around slowly, blinking as he looked up at the emotionless genius. Kazuo was soaked, his black hair glinting wetly in the weak light as watched Harry emotionlessly. His pale skin was porcelain, only marred by that cut above his right eye where Nanahara managed to hit him with a knife – it had to hurt like a bitch, but Kazuo didn't made a sound.

Slowly, he lifted up his right hand, placing it on Kazuo's cheek carefully, as if the young man was made from a fragile, priceless crystal.

"You didn't have to follow me. Yet – "He swallowed reflexively as he looked over at that beautiful, emotionless face. "Yet you did. Why?"

Kazuo's only reaction was a slow blink. "I was unaware that I needed a reason." His voice was smooth and deep as he looked into those eyes – green, soothing, and peaceful, deep green, a speck of color in his gray world, which didn't hurt and made everything a little bit better.

A dark eyebrow twitched as Harry squinted his eyes in annoyance, He had already put his glasses down in his bedroom before he entered the bathroom – besides, they were mostly useless nowadays, as his vision was corrected – more or less, so he wasn't as dependant on glasses as he had been when he was a kid. He was still a fair bit myopic, but at least he didn't need to get in people's faces just to see them properly.

The water was dripping down on them as they stared at each other – Harry with resigned annoyance and Kazuo with emotionless indifference. And Harry never felt as exposed as he did right now. Even if he still had on a sleeveless undershirt, it didn't offer any shield from the flat brown-eyed stare he was pinned under. It stuck to his skin uncomfortably and Harry had to clamp down on his urge to squirm uncomfortably, trying to subtly press his legs together, like some kind of a shy maiden – which he wasn't, thank you very much! – and mentally cursing the day the kid contracted that damned mine-itis of his and claimed Harry as his own.

"We have to fix your shoulder." Kazuo muttered out, dark hair glinting subtly as he lowered his head a little.

Harry harrumphed in answer. "You still didn't answer me," He pointed out, and neither of them made a move. They were in a perpetual stalemate, or so it seemed.

And then, Kazuo's arms dropped down, to Harry's hips, smooth palms caressing the wet fabric. Then, those pale, elegant fingers grabbed the blood splattered hem, left side first, and then right, and began to slowly tug it up, up and up –

-forcing Harry to relinquish the skin to skin contact of his hand with Kazuo's cheek and grumpily lift his arms up, like a small kid would, as Kazuo undressed him with firm, precise movements, leaving him naked and feeling strangely bereft in front of the still dressed genius.

He unconsciously pressed back to the tiled wall, shuddering as a slight sting of coldness permeated through his skin and biting back a curse as his shoulder jolted uncomfortably.

"You should get undressed, too." His voice was husky with sleepiness and really, if he had to suffer through the obnoxious idiot's bouts of mine-itis, then at least said idiot can shuck his damned clothes off too. Usually, Harry would have been too flustered to suggest this, but right now, he was not in a mood for any such emotions, and seven years – or was it six? – Of rooming and showering with a bunch of rowdy boys had somewhat desensitized him to nudity of the same sex… somewhat. He didn't see any appeal in gawking at male bodies, and he was still all too easily embarrassed by females' bits – and really, Harry blamed his temporary bout of insanity on the brat. Even if, rationally speaking wise, it was the best solution at the time…

The dark jacket hit the green and blue tiled floor with a wet 'plop'. Harry closed his eyes and tilted his head upwards, listening to the wet rustling and squelching of the clothing being tugged off and away from the slender body that was in such a close proximity to his.

Was it really only three days since that god forsaken game? Only three days since he had been pressed to kill again – total strangers whose only crime was that they were school children, chosen for The Program to educate their… nation.

He scrunched his nose in distaste.

What a bunch of bullshit that was. He would have sooner expected that from the Wizarding World, but ordinary people still proved their unerring ability to surprise him… and not in a good sense.

He shuddered, imaging the madness that would erupt if the Wizarding World did indeed have those kinds of games.

He felt Kazuo's breath on his face and neck, slightly cooler wisps of air in comparison to the tentative warmth that filled the space between them, aided by the water falling in numerous droplets from the shower head. He heard the shifting of the body and the wet fabric sliding away, sometimes louder, sometimes weaker 'smacks' until finally, there was nothing more to be taken off.

"Look at me." Kazuo's whiskey smooth, emotionless voice prompted the wizard to open his green eyes, squinting blearily at his unexpected guest, slits of green in the half-darkness looking critically over Kazuo's body.

The pale, perfect skin was glistening with water droplets sluicing over the smooth expanse of flesh down, down, down, mapping the curves and angles lovingly, like a lover would. Kiriyama, Harry noticed absentmindedly, had the perfect body – not overly muscle-bound yet not skinny either – he was a lithe, androgynous beauty and yet still undeniably male. Like a living, breathing… _doll._

Surprisingly enough, he hadn't attained many injuries through this tournament of madness they were forced to participate in – only his right upper arm was still bound with a now bloodied up wrap, when he had performed a self-surgery on himself to have a faster trigger finger. Harry should have felt resentful of Kiriyama's perfection, yet now, he was only tired and… empty.

* * *

"May I touch you?" Kiriyama asked, prompting the dark head to loll back leisurely as those viridian eyes looked at him drowsily and there was green again – not red, not the hateful crimson color, but green, dark green and alive and soothing –

* * *

**_/Start flashback/_**

This person, Harry, Kiriyama found out his name was, was interesting. They had picked him up from the road, since he was in middle of wilderness and at first, Kiriyama ignored him. Harry spoke strangely, his words stilted and foreign sounding, indicating him not to be native to those parts yet he wasn't a hitch-hiking tourist either. He was seated with Kawada and the girls giggled at him as they chatted with him and it seemed their graduation trip was bound to be as normal as they come.

And then, _The Class_. The bizarre rules. Forty-two – no, forty-three minus one.

One victor. Forty two… _disposables._

Kill or be killed.

* * *

Unfortunately for the stranger, most of the class zeroed on him.

Yet… He survived.

* * *

When he looked into those green eyes, they were hard and green and something in him _shifted. _

And his finger stalled.

"Come."

Green eyes narrowed at his invitation. "Thank you but… _No."_

And the man vanished, as if he was never there to begin with, and Kiriyama blinked.

It wasn't… supposed to be like this…. _Was it?_

The one person he had called out to, refused to come.

And in that instant, one Harry James Potter had unknowingly gotten himself a stalker, named Kiriyama Kazuo, much to the former's chagrin.

* * *

Harry had killed with almost disturbing ease, Kiriyama noted. He didn't want to, of course, but he still did – eight of them, all of them having better weapon and chances, it was almost as if he was trying to give them a chance and yet, in the end, he still prevailed.

He finally managed to catch him, with that whore advancing on him, smiling at him and cooing at him, her hips sashaying and something back in his head almost blinded him with agony –

-and then, it passed, yet still the pain throbbed dully in his skull, like a warning like _mine, mine, mine first, you can't have him – _

"He's mine." He spoke out, making both of their heads jerk in his way and then, she fired –

* * *

When all of it was finished, he half-expected he would have to hunt after him again, yet he was there, looking at her, those green eyes dark and fathomless, like an ocean in thunderstorm and again, Kiriyama felt that sharp something in his brain - _mine!_ - and then strode to him.

"You didn't need to do this, you know." The stranger – Harry – spoke out, and his voice was calm and not trembling, as if they were talking about weather and not about the woman Kiriyama had just killed half a moment ago.

"I didn't." He agreed, making those green eyes look up at him and suddenly, he was in the centre of his attention and it was almost overwhelming for some reason –

He strode forward, ignoring Harry's instinctive tension at his approach, ignoring the fact he could be killed, he could be dead as a doornail in the next five seconds, because Harry was not some weak wallflower –

He strode forward, and viridian eyes narrowed as Kiriyama stopped in front of him, just at the perfect distance for being knifed, his guts slashed and spilling onto the ground –

"But you are mine."

And the proverbial bombshell was dropped.

"_What the hell did you say?"_ Harry hissed out, incensed.

* * *

Somehow, he managed to get the green-eyed man to tag along – or better yet, he practically dragged him along, not giving him a choice. Of course, Harry could've killed him, should have killed him, but he didn't just like Kiriyama didn't kill him.

Green eyes watched as Kiriyama cauterized the wound on his shoulder, and then, after sterilizing the knife, made a cut into his right hand, fingers slick and red as he dug out the appropriate muscle and taped it to his skin with some bandages, so white, white, and _white_ against the red spilling out of the wound.

"You are insane," the man hissed out, but did nothing to stop him. Kiriyama looked at him.

"Suppose I am." He agreed blandly. "But then you are too."

Harry twitched, those green, green eyes narrowing. However, before he managed to berate the idiot, Kiriyama asked a … question.

"Why do people kiss?" The question was simple in its brutality, making Harry splutter, those lovely green eyes widen from their previous hateful slits.

"W – _Wha - !_ Listen, we are in the middle of a slaughter, and all you can think of is why people kiss? Your head is screwed, man."

Empty eyes looked at Harry. "Yes. She… offered it to me. And I rescued you. So…"

"The Hell am I kissing you!" Harry snarled out, lovely green eyes flashing a dangerous shade – and who would have known, Kiriyama mused idly, that there were so many shades of green?

He pointed the gun at the man, making him freeze in the middle of his motion.

Yet, the man didn't beg or cry.

"Come here." Kiriyama commanded and Harry came closer, moving like a caged tiger, those school clothes still too big for his slender frame and he smelled of wind and earth and fire and sweat.

Green eyes behind those sophisticated glasses narrowed as he stopped in front of the still sitting Kiriyama.

The terrace should have been idyllic, if it weren't for a corpse of the girl in the background and one psycho who wanted his kiss.

"What now?" Harry snarked out, his fingers undoubtedly twitching for his trusty Colt he had packed in his belt. On his right hip.

Kiriyama lightly dug the muzzle of his own gun in Harry's stomach making the male glare at him harder.

"Now… You kiss me."

_**/End flashback/**_

* * *

"You still owe me a kiss." Kazuo mumbled out, his words partially muffled under the water, making Harry start out of his musings.

"_Again?"_ Harry balked out – or at least tried to. Instead of it, the words tumbled out if his mouth in the shape of annoyed mewl.

"Listen, buster, I am about to keel over from blood loss, am dead tired and we still have to take care of your whatchamacallit surgery attempt. No kisses for you tonight."

A green-eyed glare made its way to the emotionless brown eyes.

Harry was now feeling pretty weak, and his head was strangely light and Kazuo's face was swimming in front of his eyes.

Huffing, he felt around for a bottle of soap. Finding it, his fingers clutched around the bottle's neck as he tried to open it, mumbling a curse at his sudden weakness.

Of course, just fucking now, the adrenaline decides to wear out completely.

Inwardly, Harry snarled.

"Let me." The same whiskey smooth voice murmured, and with a sigh of relief he let the bottle fall from his fingers.

A moment later, he scented the lavender and he could have wept with relief that all of it would finally be over –

Slender, long fingered hands touched his shoulders and he involuntarily tensed for a moment, before remembering - and wasn't that a comforting thought, being in a shower with a psychopathic murderer? –

'_But __you're__ a murderer too,'_ His mind sluggishly mocked him. '_Why else would you off nine innocent kids, huh?'_

Those fingers and palms gently rubbed off the dirt and blood and Harry had to wince for a moment as some of the soap managed to get into the wound, and then, the hands moved away and down, to his torso and hips and he hissed as his sensitive appendages were rubbed, but thankfully, they didn't rebel in case of an inappropriate stiffness.

Thighs, knees, down and down and Harry wondered, when it was the last time someone was so focused solely on him, without obsessive need to kill him.

_Never. _

"Turn around." Harry did so almost bonelessly, his head bowing forward in an attempt to stay awake for a little bit more.

And those wonderful fingers were back, massaging his back, tracing the wounds and soothing the muscles with an expert touch, so he didn't mind much as those slender fingers slid between the cheeks of his bottom, making him involuntarily shudder at the sensation and he almost regretted when it was over.

Harry blinked as those hands settled on his shoulders again, just touching, while the water washed away the soap suds and with it the blood, sweat and dirt.

He really didn't want to, but…

"My turn then." He mumbled out, turning around,

"You are tired." Kazuo pointed out, but Harry was still too blissed out to be properly angry at him. So he only frowned before lightly slapping Kazuo in the middle of his chest, feeling the smooth, slick skin under his fingertips.

"Shaddup. You did me, so I will do it to you." He mumbled out, not even realizing the double entendre of his words. "Pour me the soap." He demanded imperiously, upturning the hand, and eyeing the other man expectantly.

A moment later, he felt the viscous light violet liquid drip in his hand. Pressing his back to the wall, he rubbed his hands together so as to spread the liquid. The light scent curled around them, making the already existing aroma stronger.

"C'mere." He made a gesture with a hand, making Kazuo step closer. Drowsily, he tipped his head up, as his hands touched those strong shoulders, skating lightly across the smooth skin found here and distantly marveling that something so fragile could be so… warm and smooth, without any scars. He carefully traced the collarbone, before turning back to the shoulders and then, he began to trace downward, growling as he touched the bandage from Kazuo's foolish surgery attempt.

"Ge' it off." He mumbled, poking at the bandage.

A moment later, the bloodied piece of fabric fell off with a wet _'shlack'._ Harry grimaced at the red muscle poking out of the wound. "You're one bloody mad berk." He managed to mumble, before carefully pressing the muscle back into its appropriate place and gently squeezing the wound shut, all the while mumbling a minor stasis charm. He felt the body under his jerk a little, but he didn't care.

And then, he continued. When he finished with hands, he moved on to the stomach and hips, hissing a little when his eyesight darkened almost too much for him to continue.

He was unaware that he bent so low it could be interpreted as an… ehm… _intense _sexual act from an outsider.

Above him, there was a startled hiss as Harry's breath caressed Kazuo's very sensitive area.

"Hn… There too?" Harry muttered grumpily, before grabbing Kazuo's member and starting to rub it absentmindedly, not knowing he was currently wreaking havoc upon his hapless victim.

All too soon, he abandoned the interesting piece and moved down to the thighs and knees, all the way to the feet.

"Turn 'round." Harry mumbled, as he swayed when he get out from his bent position.

He washed the back and buttocks in almost clinical manner. In the end, he was practically swaying on his feet and Kazuo turned just in time to intercept his collapsing form.

"You overexerted yourself." Was that Harry hallucinating or was he really listening to Kazuo berating him?

"Was not." He mumbled childishly, as he closed his eyes.

"In the drawer – Third bottle from the right – potion." He managed to get out, before the darkness swallowed him.

* * *

Kiriyama stared at the man in his arms. Even he had known Harry had been overtaxing his limits, yet, he still allowed Harry to take care of his person.

'_Just like he should have.'_ A stray thought wandered in his brain and nestled itself somewhere in the back of his brain. The body against his was cooler than his own, reminding him of the next step.

Carefully, he stepped out of the shower, barely noticing it had shut itself off. He carried his precious burden into the room, both still naked as jaybirds –Kiriyama as a flawless perfection, and Harry, too skinny and his body marred with scars and burns.

Gently, Kiriyama put Harry onto the bed, frowning slightly as he searched for the drawer.

There it was. It stood beside the luxurious bed silently, and Kiriyama wasted no time in opening it. And there, just as Harry had said, was the … Potion?

Whatever.

He knelt on the top of the covers and began to shake the sleeping green-eyed man awake.

"Harry. Wake up. You have to take the medicine."

After a few moments, he managed to wake him up.

Green eyes looked at him blearily.

"Whu-?" The man croaked out.

"You're sick. You have to take the… potion." Kiriyama almost stumbled over the foreign word, and by Harry's groan, he wasn't entirely successful in his endeavor.

"Well, shit. '_Nother_ one?" Harry grumped out. He sighed. "Alrigh'. Help me to drink it up."

Nodding Kiriyama tipped the small bottle up and took the potion in his mouth, before he bent down and released the foul tasting liquid in the spluttering victim's mouth.

* * *

"Wha-_Argh!"_ Harry yelped out as he gagged, forcing the potion down as fast as he could, while battling the insistent tongue back into the mouth it came from.

"Kazu-_nmh!"_ He managed, before those insistent lips covered his own once more. But _hell,_ how the fuck could a total beginner kiss so… so fucking _good!_

The kiss lasted until there was not a trace of potion left in Harry's mouth, and Harry was quite flushed.

"You bastard," The green eyed man weakly snarled out. "I said no kisses!"

Blank eyes blinked. "That was no kiss – "

"You're right. It was a _damned tonsil hockey!_" Harry grumped back, but Kiriyama unrepentantly continued, as if Harry didn't even speak. "I just helped you to swallow the medicine."

"What, by choking me half to death?" Harry snapped, closing his eyes.

"It was the best method." Kiriyama commented mildly.

Harry seethed. "_Ri-ight._ Gimme the next bottle and get yourself the vial in the upper right corner." He commanded instead. He could fume later on, right now, his priority was healing his damned shoulder and the idiot's arm.

'_Hermione Jean Granger has much to answer for.' _

With that last thought on his mind, he gulped down another icky-tasting sludge that masqueraded as medicine before snuggling under the covers, quietly blessing the magic for the warming charms.

* * *

Blank brown eyes watched attentively the man snuggled under the covers. The room was cool, but he didn't let it bother him. After he was sure Harry was truly deeply asleep, he smoothly sneaked under the same covers, snuggling against the naked body, wet hair and all.

"You're mine, whether you want it or not." He murmured lowly into delicate ear as he nuzzled the wild wet hair. "And I will definitely get the kisses."

And with that promise, Kiriyama Kazuo, the genius psychopath extraordinaire peacefully settled into his first sleep in this strange new world that was about to become his new home.

* * *

It was warm. And comfy. And there was a naked skin against his, and he heard the sounds of a distant argument going over his head.

Harry snuggled deeper into that warmth, groaning a little, wishing whoever was yapping over his head would shut up already and let him sleep.

Sleep.

Damn, was it only him or was the bed comfier than ever?

"-arry! Ge-…. Out! – " The annoying voice continued screeching, and he scrunched his nose, quite unwilling to open his eyes.

_Five more minutes._

That smooth, cool voice answering was quite nice, too. Harry wouldn't have minded listening to it – at least it didn't have any harpy undertones and it had a comfortable volume.

It was also a male voice.

Wait…. Hang on.

Dark eyebrows scrunching, Harry's muzzy brain began to work. Hmmm, it was so very warm…

This was not Ron…

Remus was away with Tonks…

… and the Weasleys, with exception of the Twins were forbidden entrance.

And his shoulder was sore for some reason –

_Shit!_

Harry's body stiffened as he finally managed to recall the happenings of last twenty four hours.

_Double shit_.

And that voice….

Yes, his latest psychopath was apparently in his bed, naked and quite unwilling to leave him alone.

_Triple shit._

A warm, naked body pressed against his, and the scent of lavender and something uniquely Kazuo finally registered in his brain.

"I told you where your room is!" Ooh, Hermione sounded very frustrated. At least that meant she had tried to do something right, if nothing else, Harry mused to himself sardonically as he overcame the first shock.

However, his sweet, beautiful sleep was lost for good now, no thanks to the two idiots in the room.

"Hermione." He tried out, but the bushy-haired witch was still railing at Kazuo.

"Hermione." Nothing.

"-what gave you the right to just sleep with him, huh? Harry is _NOT _yours - !"

Now, Harry was pissed.

"HERMIONE GRANGER!" he barked up, making his pillow jerk and the foolish woman meep.

Finally, he managed to open his eyes, if only a fraction.

"H – Harry?" She questioned her voice timid. As far as his eyes could see, she held something in her hands and the aroma was thick and sweet, making his nose twitch.

Ahh…. A bribe.

"What the hell are you doing in my room?" He asked, his voice dangerously low as he tried to prop himself up, growling as he was still trapped in human octopus' embrace. "And you, Kazuo, let me go." He growled at the man, heedless of their position – okay, well, he just chose to ignore it. It was for the best, honest.

Reluctantly, the arms retreated, but as soon as Harry propped himself up, his head still woozy, but feeling infinitely better than the last day-night, whatever – they embraced him again.

"U-Um.. Harry, it's four in the afternoon." Hermione's voice was still somewhat squeaky, and a little bit tense.

Harry blinked. "So?" He asked, squinting at her blurry figure crankily. He blinked as the glasses were put on his nose, bringing the world into a sharp focus once more.

Hermione fidgeted at the doors, with a really, really big mug of chocolaty goodness. She was still tired, as the bags under her eyes were witnesses to, but she still marched on.

She was clothed in a floor-length tan skirt with an ochre-colored T- shirt and a dark green vest. "Well, isn't it way past the time you usually got up?" she asked, a small frown on her face. Harry eyed her grumpily.

"Yes, it _would_ have been, if a certain some_one _didn't send me on a whoop-de-doo adventure without my consent first!" He shot back, making her flinch and her shoulders hunch a little. Hell, even her bushy hair was less… err, bushy than normal!

"I already said I was sorry!" She reiterated, exasperated. "Now if you wouldn't mind calling off your guard dog…" She waved the mug enticingly, making Harry's eyes follow it momentarily, before Harry got his wits together.

"… You did something stupid, didn't you?" Harry asked slowly, making her eyes widen guiltily.

"Uh, no, never! Whatever has given you that idea?" Hermione blustered out, but Harry was undeterred.

"You only bribe me with hot chocolate when you get into really, really big trouble, want my help on something I don't approve of, or you did something you definitely know it would make me mad." Harry counted the facts flatly, wincing as he was squeezed extra tight. "Kazuo, stop squeezing me, will you!" He addressed his…stalker and bed partner, his voice tinged with annoyance.

"You are mine." Kazuo's universal answer to all his actions pertaining Harry's person made an appearance, eliciting an indignant squawk from Hermione and a tired glare from Harry.

"It's entirely too early for me to argue with you about just what exactly is wrong with your declaration," Harry rebuffed him dryly.

"Harry is not your possession!" Hermione hissed at Kazuo like annoyed cat, prompting a flat stare at her person by the accused party.

"I never said he was." Kazuo murmured out, choosing to disregard a faint "Hallelujah." from his prey. "I only said he was mine."

Hermione became red with fury, spluttering with confusing.

"Why you – _argh!_ Harry, keep your pet psycho on a leash, will you!" she finally addressed the amused green-eyed man.

"It's your entire fucking fault." Harry volleyed back, making her grumble as she stepped forward, huffing indignantly.

She thrust the mug at Harry, but before Harry even had the chance to take it, it was snatched by his lovely psychopathic pet – er, Kazuo.

"_Hey - !"_ Hermione yelped out as Harry glared at the man.

"Kazuo. Gimme the mug." He ordered to the annoyance, but Kazuo still held the mug, looking it over with dark, fathomless eyes.

"She could have poisoned it."

Harry twitched. "Really? She would have gone through all the trouble to get me back only to poison me herself?" He asked dryly.

"She could." Was Kazuo's unrepentant answer, making Hermione seethe in helpless fury. That – that _man _dared to doubt her intentions toward Harry! Right – the bastard just earned the top spot in Hermione's black list. A terrifying fate that all who knew the bookworm avoided fervently, but this one was as calm as a cucumber.

She had to give him points for his courage under fire… or not. Psychopaths didn't deserve cookies, mental or otherwise.

"She didn't." Harry told him in no-nonsense voice. "Besides, we are not anywhere near the island and the Program doesn't have any connections to here.

"And how could you be so sure about… that?" Kazuo asked blandly, as if he didn't care, as he still hogged the mug outside the reach of one green-earned wizard.

"_Accio."_ Harry sighed as the mug jerked out of Kazuo's hand into his. "Because I really doubt they have the means to cross dimensions." He told Kazuo frankly, watching those blank eyes widen.

"Well… that would be the answer." Kazuo murmured thoughtfully, but Harry wasn't fooled. Behind those eyes ran frighteningly intelligent mind that was only surpassed by Kazuo's psychopathic tendencies.

"_Harry!"_ Hermione hissed out, like a spooked cat. "How _could _you!" She glared at her famous and most troublesome friend disapprovingly. Harry gulped down a swallow of the sweet, divine ambrosia. "Yeth?" He mumbled out, unwilling to part with the chocolate goodness. "You shouldn't have – "

"Told him?" Harry asked dryly. "Well, yes, you shouldn't have sent me to that 'educational trip' of yours, too, and I am not groaning and moaning half the amount you are." He slurped another sip.

"Besides, he won't be going back. Ever." Hermione gaped at Harry's firm voice.

"Why not?" She asked, feeling a little foolish for doing so. Hermione Granger was way past whining like that and really, she shouldn't have to ask, as it was Harry's duty to explain her just _why_ was he seeking to literally adopt this little hunky piece of psycho – yes, Hermione _did_ have eyes, and Harry's…companion… was very, very delicious looking… when he wasn't being an emotionless jerk, which was 99 percent of the time.

Harry busied himself with slurping the hot, creamy ambrosia down, stoically bearing her irritated stare. He chose to ignore the way Kiriyama was snuggling against him, although he made a mental memo to have some… words… with Kiriyama about his psycho habits later. That mine-itis of his was becoming a very disturbing thing.

Not that it hadn't been at the beginning at any rate.

He finished the mug regretfully, but it was time to sort the shit Hermione had unintentionally gotten him into.

"You will be pleased that your little pet project succeeded beyond your wildest imagination," he began pleasantly, ignoring her wince.

"I – I'm sorry, I didn't think – " She began, only to shut her mouth at Harry's piercing glare.

"Shall I tell you just where your little creation deposited me?" Harry's voice was still soft, and Kazuo nuzzled into the crook of his neck.

She tensed, hunching into herself like a cornered animal.

"Into the wilderness." Harry continued his story, inspecting his fingernails, not even deeming her worthy to be looked at. If he had looked at her…he wouldn't be able to lay into her.

"But that was good, wasn't it?" She asked, curious. "We did have survival training – "

Sharp green eyes looked at her, making her wince.

"You're wrong. Because of your little… experiment, I found myself smack dab in the middle of the Project." Harry snarled out, his body tensing at the memories.

"Imagine a whole class, going on a graduation trip, expecting to spend some days in pleasant company. Forty-two people with their futures bright in front of them. " His voice was soft, but oh so cold.

Hermione shivered.

"And then, imagine that they were transported to some small island, fitted with explosive collars and told to kill each other…. Until only one stood alive."

Hermione gasped, her eyes huge as she placed her hand on her mouth. "Oh, God…" Her horrified whisper didn't deter Harry from continuing.

"Imagine that they are given a …_practical demonstration_, you could say, seeing the lifeless body of their teacher, and then seeing one of their classmates being killed in front of them… and nobody doing_ anything_ to stop it. " Harry continued ruthlessly, fingers clenching around the mug tightly as he glared at her, yet not seeing her.

"Imagine that they are told they have to kill, or in 24 hours, the collars would be detonated and… all of them would be dead."

Harry smirked sardonically. "And funny thing is, the test. You get a piece of paper with only one question to answer."

"Harry, stop… Please…" Hermione begged, her face sickly pale.

But the green-eyed wizard was relentless. "Can you imagine which question they asked?" he whispered, his eyes still unfocused.

"No, Harry – stop it, I don't want to hear it – " The bushy-haired witch choked out, shaking her head wildly, as if trying to convince herself it was only a dream- A bad, bad dream, but a dream nonetheless.

"Oh, _no,_ Hermione. You _will_ hear it. You were always so inquisitive, so _very _curious…so very _brave_… won't you ask me which one it was?"

Green eyes finally focused onto her, making her recoil sharply at the void in them.

"_Which one will you kill first?"_

* * *

She swallowed convulsively, forcibly keeping the bile that threatened to escape her, down.

"Funny how one stranger they picked from the road makes a difference." Harry mused absentmindedly.

"Forty-two kids, Hermione. No older than you or I. Forty-two kids, with orders to kill or be killed – regardless of friendship, love or anything else.

"And what is _worse_," Harry practically hissed out, green eyes flashing, "This _travesty _is being aired as a_ show_ all of the country is required to watch!"

Hermione jerked back as if stabbed. "_No…_" Her horrified whisper was garbled with emotions.

"Oh _yes_." Harry nodded decisively. He paused, unclenching his hands from the mug a little – they were beginning to hurt him.

Hermione was crying now. "Nine kids." Harry muttered out, closing his eyes. "I… had to kill nine of them… to survive." His voice was toneless, haunting sound in the room.

"I – I'm sorry, Harry! I swear, I didn't know!" She blubbered, collapsing on the floor.

Harry sighed. "But you fucking_ did_ have to mess with Temporal magic, didn't you?" He growled out, angry with her stupid brilliance and ability to pick up stupidest quests to research.

"I-I-I I was just so curious and - and this was so fascinating – I - I didn't know, I'm sorry! So, so, sorry – " She choked out, brown eyes red and glassy with tears, looking every bit a chastened little girl.

Harry huffed.

"Temporal magic?" Kazuo finally asked, making Hermione tense and Harry sigh.

"Magic about time – how to go back in time, time paradoxes and so on," Harry waved the question off absentmindedly. "I was not originally from your dimension or even time. I am from this time and place – and we are in England now, it's the year 1998.

"So that's how you vanished." Kazuo muttered, blinking at the memory. Harry nodded, grimacing. "Yes. Wizards and witches are people with special energy we can use to make, destroy or change a variety of things, allowing us to ignore most of nature's laws, like gravity, chemistry and so on." The explanation was short and to the point, making Hermione blink at him dumbly.

"Since when were you so intelligent?" She asked him curiously, making him sigh with annoyance. "Just because I didn't get the highest grades around it doesn't mean I can't use my brain, Granger." Harry snapped back, making her bristle weakly at him.

"So explain it to me how he could follow you back, genius," She snapped back, her cinnamon eyes narrowed petulantly.

Harry sighed. "Well, it was like this…"

* * *

**_/Start flashback/_**

"Do it, motherfucker! _DO IT!"_ Kawada roared, his eyes bright and cold and -

_BANG!_

After a moment, he still didn't feel the bite of the bullet.

Yonemi's ugly face was confused.

And still, the shots rang.

In that short moment, Kawada jumped.

* * *

The attack was planned perfectly. Nanahara and Nakagawa did their part a little bit clumsily, while both Harry and Kazuo were killing the soldiers with deadly precision, letting the pair go forward.

"Leave some of them alive!" Nanahara hollered after them, making Harry scoff at the rocker disdainfully.

"Che. Just _who_ is he trying to kid?" He muttered to himself, quickly reloading his Colt.

* * *

_BLAM!_

The door flew open, but Kawada was still as cool as a cucumber, smoking his cigarette as if nothing was wrong with the world.

"Kawada! All right!" Kawada flinched a little at Shuya's jubilant voice. Noriko's one was no less jubilant with relief "We did it! We –" She called, but paused as she took a good look at the room.

There was a taken aback quiet when both of the teens had time to look around the room. One dead soldier, Yonemi was also dead –

"So… How many did you rack up topside?" Kawada asked them dryly.

Shuya cringed. "Uh… We left Harry and Kiriyama to deal with them."

Kawada stared at the sheepish duo. "That was as good as letting them die." He murmured, making the duo's eyes wide with horror.

"B – But!" Shuya sputtered, disbelievingly, before turning on his heels and running back out.

* * *

Kawada's prediction was both right and wrong.

There were still four soldiers alive, although trussed up like turkeys, trembling under Kiriyama's emotionless gaze.

"You didn't kill them?" Kawada was honestly surprised. If anything, he expected Kiriyama to finish the deed. However, for some reason…. The psycho restrained himself.

The dark eyebrow over the left green eye lifted. "And be subjected to the squawking of our lovebirds here? " Harry asked dryly. "Hell no." Kawada chuckled, while both of the mentioned lovebirds protested, their faces flushed with mortification.

"You!" One of the soldiers capped out. "You were the winner. Anything you wanted was yours for the asking! So _why!"_

Kawada ignored Harry's muttered "Here's to grunts," and Noriko's small giggle as he chuckled.

"Got what I wanted right here. Your boss figured it out… I declared a war on the Program."

Harry absentmindedly listened to Kawada's little brag-fest on how perfectly he executed his little plan.

And suddenly, it all went to hell.

The girl was yapping something about beating the Program, and then, one of the soldiers lunged for a gun, getting it and grinning an ugly victorious grin.

"Punk-ass fuckers! See if I let you live!" He screamed, that ugly expression still on his face and -

And he fired.

* * *

Harry moved without thinking- covering Kawada, as he got shot – again, through his shoulder, and absentmindedly, he wondered just what were the odds for being shot twice in the same place, and then, Kiriyama's trusty Ingram barked out his load, thankfully more precise than the dumbass soldier.

The girl screamed and Nanahara was too late – again.

The attacker fell down, a perfect red hole in the middle of his forehead.

"And _that_, kiddies," Harry addressed the two fools weakly, as he was caught by Kawada, "Is why the mad dogs need to be put down."

The remaining three soldiers tensed, finally comprehending their situation.

"You alright?" Kawada muttered lowly to Harry, a little unnerved at Kiriyama's stare at his person. If there was anyone Kawada would like to see dead, it was that Kiriyama fellow. The kid was just too good at killing others, and it had been pure dumb luck he decided to join forces with them - and this was a good thing…as long Harry was alive. If Harry had been killed, then…. Kawada didn't want to think about it.

"Ha-Harry-san…" The girl hiccupped, her large eyes wet with tears.

The green-eyes man blinked. "Will be alright, girl." He muttered, green eyes glinting at her, making her smile shakily. "I've been through worse."

"Right. What do we do with the others?" Kawada asked after a short pause.

The soldiers cringed, eyeing the armed teenagers fearfully.

"Kill them." Kiriyama's emotionless voice suggested the solution as easily as he was talking about mathematic quotation or weather.

"That is _wrong,_ Kiriyama!" Nanahara rounded at Kiriyama, his eyes blazing with tears. "They – they're still humans!"

Harry contemplatively watched the wild-haired youth. Shoulder-length hair, a handsome face and a holier than thou attitude that made him sick.

Was he once like that?

When he was still young, still innocent, and still foolishly stupid enough to believe that world was farting out rainbows and cookies?

He grimaced.

Definitely.

However, when he looked at the girl that was trembling behind the boy's back, obviously shaken and exhausted enough, he wondered if there wasn't already enough bloodshed… Lord knew it was enough.

More than enough.

Kiriyama was emotionless as usual and stoically bearing the yapping of that Nakahara wannabe rock fellow.

"Che." Kawada huffed, amused. "They will be at it until the cows come home. Let's go change the bandages. "

Harry rolled his eyes, grunting in assent, letting Kawada haul him into the cabin.

* * *

Kawada eyed the wound critically. "You're damn lucky bastard," He rumbled out. "The bullet shot through the same place mine had, so we just need to cauterize the wound and then bind it together again."

"Yay." Harry deadpanned, making the stern and rough man chuckle, before he sobered up. "And could you explain what you meant when you said you had been through worse?"

He heated the knife on the flame until the blade was hot enough, and then pressed it on the wound, with his patient making barely a sound at the sharp pain.

"A vigilante group." Harry grunted out. "Been fighting terrorists my entire life." His eyebrow twitched as Kawada repeated the process on the other side. "Leader got my parents killed when I was one, and then it just kinda snowballed down. Got the fuckers, earned a vacation and ended up in the Program."

Kawada whistled. "You have really shitty luck, man." He murmured when he put gauze on the shoulder and began to wrap the wound.

"Kinda. When were you intending to tell 'em you were shot too?"

Kawada paused. "I don't know what you are speaking about." He said coolly, resuming his work.

"Bullshit. " Harry growled back. "You were shot into the stomach, dumbass, and you still insist on taking care of my wounds first."

Kawada sighed. "No foolin' you, huh?" he nodded to himself. "Because there's nothing that can be done. Doctor's kid knows when it's lost cause. My innards are shredded, and I have five, ten minutes max."

Harry twitched. "As I said – you are a dumbass. Biggest ever, too. Lie down and shut up." He ordered to the man who blinked at him as if he had lost his mind.

"Listen, I already told you I don't have much time – only enough to explain the ropes to the kiddies. So let's call them and – "

Harry firmly grasped his arm. "Sit. _Down._" His voice was cold and no nonsense, the voice of the Commander.

Kawada stared. And then, he slowly flopped down on the desk. "Well, shit. You're one scary kid."

Impassioned green eyes watched him, until he complied and, grunting with pain, lay down on the surface.

Deftly, Harry cut the clothes, exposing the gruesome looking wound. "Fuck… You weren't kidding." He mumbled, frowning. "This will be a tough one, but I think I will manage… my reserves should still be good enough."

* * *

Kawada frowned, confused. Reserves? What was the kid babbling about now? "You some kind of super-surgeon now?" He joked weakly, trying not to wince at the pain.

"If that helps," Harry deadpanned shortly. "Hang on, this will hurt like a motherfucking bitch."

Pressing his hand on the wound, he closed his eyes and concentrated.

Kawada had a time for a small gurgle of assent, before the pain hit like a train.

* * *

"We're finis – _What the hell are you doing!"_ Nanahara hollered as he saw what Harry was doing. He tried to barge in to tear Harry away from Kawada, but he was held back by Kiriyama.

"Let him _go_, you son of a bitch!" He tried to tear himself out of Kiriyama's hold, but the psycho was as strong as ever. "Noriko, do something! The bastard is trying to kill Kawada!"

But the girl stared at the scene, transfixed. "No…. Shuya, you got it wrong… Harry is healing him!" she breathed out, her eyes wide with wonder.

The rocker blinked dumbly. "Healing?" he parroted, feeling like a lost child.

"Yes." The girl replied. "But-how – "

Kiriyama only watched, and even when he let Nanahara go, the hot-headed musician didn't register it.

The pressure in the room increased, making them sweat and then, it was over.

Harry almost collapsed on his patient, but was held up by Kiriyama.

"Holy shi – You weren't kidding!" Kawada wheezed out, still somewhat conscious trough the whole affair, his eyes wide at the now smooth expanse of his stomach.

"Sorry for the pain." Harry managed to wheeze out, his lungs and muscles burning. Kiriyama gently tugged him up, which Harry gratefully allowed to be done.

"Whoa, dude! What kind of voodoo was that?" Nanahara jumped into the conversation, earning Kiriyama's flat stare, but that didn't deter him. "And why didn't you use it on yourself before?"

Harry blinked sluggishly. "Can't." he rasped out. "Works only for others. An' steals energy like crazy." He did tell him the truth, only he omitted that this particular healing charm was insanely dangerous to perform even with a wand, and he had gone and done it wandlessly, which made it instant suicide. "Lemme sleep." He managed to mumble out, before he crashed into unconsciousness.

* * *

Kawada stared at the unconscious black-haired stranger in Kiriyama's arms. "He's a fucking miracle." He muttered, awed. Aside from feeling a small, residual pain where the gaping wound had been, he felt right as rain – and it was all because of this bat-shit crazy energy surgeon. If his father were here to see this…He shook his head, still in a half disbelief, half daze.

"Let's go, kiddies. We have much to talk about." He declared, nodding at Nanahara and Noriko.

"B-but what about Harry-san?" Noriko asked timidly, her eyes still wide.

Kawada snorted. "Kiriyama will take good care of him. Anyone who wants to kill those two has a death wish," he replied dryly as he cautiously slid off of the desk, giving them a meaningful look. "C'mere. We have much to do and little time."

* * *

When Harry woke up, it was already evening, and the sun was setting.

"You're awake!" The girl's voice squeaked happily, making him wish to hide under the sheets for a little bit more time.

_"Mh."_ He grunted.

"I-if you wish… there's a dinner…" She offered timidly.

Harry stared at her for a moment, and then smiled. "Well… why not?"

* * *

All of them were gathered in one of private rooms – Nanahara scoffed at them, but even he had to admit it was pretty comfy, all things considered.

Harry had taken off the bandages, intending to get new ones on sometime later, and wore the school uniform – he would have worn anything else, but he didn't want to bother changing the clothes. Transfiguration was always somewhat of a weak side of his, and he was still tired from the massive usage of his magic.

"So... What did you do with the soldiers?" Harry asked casually.

"Shipped them off," Kawada grunted, as he munched on his rice ball. "The lovebird brats wouldn't allow them to be offed."

"Hey!" Nanahara cried out, offended. "Just because we were forced to kill, it doesn't mean we have to kill everyone that opposes us!"

"You just let a potential safety risk become a definite one." Kiriyama deadpanned, delicately nibbling on his piece of sushi.

Nanahara growled angrily. "So? They are humans, just like us!"

Harry snorted. "Kiriyama is right, brat." He murmured, stoically bearing Nanahara's angry glare at his person."Dunno if letting them go will make any difference, but what's done is done." He sipped his tea slowly, wincing at the sharp, stabbing pain in his shoulder.

"How would you know?" The brat was insistent, like a puppy with a bone.

* * *

Green eyes zeroed on Nanahara, pinning him under their gaze. "I fought in a civil war way before you even thought of tits," Harry deadpanned, making Nanahara flush with shocked embarrassment. "To survive, I had to kill when I was eleven – " The girl gasped and even Kawada inhaled a shocked breath.. "I was fighting in life and death odds ever since. Our leader was a kind man – foolish but kind, thinking that giving someone a second or third or the next chance was a right thing to do. It didn't help him much when one of his reformed 'pet projects' killed him." Harry huffed out, fingers twitching for a wand – or in this case, Colt.

"His organization heeded his beliefs about not killing the opponents – which were certified murderers that tortured, killed, et cetera, and the result?" He asked dryly. Nanahara stared at him with horrified eyes.

"You're kidding." He croaked out. Harry snorted. "I wish." He replied sourly. "We almost lost the fucking war just because some old goat preached at them to forgive and forget instead of putting them down like the mad dogs they were."

He drank down another sip of tea. "Huh. So that's why you didn't hesitate," Kawada muttered out, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Harry looked at him with a tired smile. "Hardest kills of my fucked up life." He muttered out, his eyes hollow.

The dinner ended in a somber mood.

* * *

Sighing, Harry closed his eyes. Once again he was in his cabin – Kawada was manning the ship, the lovebirds were kissing somewhere and he really didn't care about Kiriyama.

The night was peaceful and they made good mileage, and if all went well, at dawn, they would already be in contact with some of Kawada's… acquaintances that would smuggle them through the system. It had been so peaceful, Harry mused to himself, as he stood at the window, he could almost imagine that he was on a luxury cruise and not fleeing again from some power-and blood-mad system that allowed a whole class of kids to kill each other just to keep the masses in check.

Suddenly, he felt sick – like something was hooked on him and climbing toward him, using his belly button as some kind of a straw to climb up. The feeling increased, until Harry was half tempted to just hurl his guts and e done with it – and then, it stopped.

A small pop later, there, in front of him, hovered a palm sized hexagonal crystal, glittering silver in the half-darkness.

Green eyes widening, Harry instantly knew what it was… Well, one of those things did transport him to this mad world.

"Holy shit." He breathed out.

A small otter appeared in front of him, and then, he heard Hermione's voice.

"_Harry – crackle-zzt – This is-zrrrt-key to get you back-zzt. It will activate in five minu-chhhrrr-old it and see-chhr -soon_." Harry glared at the small otter that vanished in a shower of white sparks.

Well, at least the message was clear. He had five minutes before activation –

Scrambling around to search for something to write with, he cursed. Finally, finally he found a pen and a piece of paper and began writing furiously.

"_Kawada, Nanahara, Nakagawa, Kiriyama. _

_I went back to where I came from. Don't worry for me and get the hell out of this shit hole of a country. _

_Kawada – Be careful with wound and no smoking for a month. Yes, I__ mean__ it. _

_Nanahara – Listen to Kawada and take care of your girl. _

_Nakagawa –Take care of your idiot boyfriend and keep an eye on Kawada for me, will ya?_

_Kiriyama. Don't kill them. Even if Nanahara is an ass. Keep them safe. Yes, even Kawada._

_Wish you luck, _

_Harry."_

He put the letter on the bed, inwardly wincing at his cowardice. However, it was best as he could do in given circumstances. The goodbyes would be too long and he really didn't want to have Kiriyama on his tail.

Grabbing the Portkey, he turned around and stiffened.

"You are going away." It was not so much of an accusation as a simple statement.

* * *

"Yes." Harry managed to get out, his brain blazing through plans how to get rid of the pest named Kiriyama Kazuo – the sooner, the better.

"I have to return. I don't belong here. Give them the letter – " He pointed at the piece of paper on the bed cover – "And take care. Keep yourself out of trouble, will ya?"

"Hn." The soulless brown eyes stared at Harry, making him fidget uncomfortably.

A tense moment of silence stretched between the two of them.

"You don't intend to come back." Kazuo muttered, tilting his head slightly, making him even more of a predator than he already was.

"We already established that fact." Harry snapped out, impatient. He looked at the crystal in his hand as it began to vibrate gently, the tremors strengthening by the moment.

And then, he begun to feel the familiar sickness in his stomach and then, a body impacted with his, making him splutter –

"God – "He managed to say, and then, they were whisked away in a flash of intense silver light.

And in the morning, all that would be left from the duo was the scorched letter.

**_/End flashback/_**

* * *

"No wonder." Hermione muttered thoughtfully. "It could only locate someone if there was a significantly strong outburst of magic and with you using _Sano Proxima_, it was more than enough for the anchor to locate and home on your signal."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Whoop-_fucking-_de-_damned_-doo." He muttered dryly, and then yelping as she pinched his ear. "Ow! What was that for?" He rubbed his injured ear gently, glaring at her.

"For being a dumbass." The bushy-haired witch barked back, brown eyes shining with anger. "You had no wand and you go and perform a level eight healing Charm, which, by the way, is only performed in a group of three or four Mediwizards! Are you fucking _suicidal!"_

"Is that really so dangerous?" Kiriyama interjected, making the witch's glare switch to him. "Yes." She growled out. "In your terms, it could be equivalent to having a highly skilled surgeons simultaneously operating on the patient and giving him energy to restore the damaged organs to a perfect state. The amount of the energy used would be half of a kiloton – roughly speaking. A normal witch or wizard can produce at most one ninth of this amount – if they are extensively trained for it, that is. The dumbass here is not trained, but he has stupidly high levels of energy – in fact, I am surprised you managed to pull that off, what with your trip and whatnot." She addressed Harry, making him blink innocently.

"He could've –should have died, because using such an amount of energy in one sitting should have got him into a deep coma, if not into outright death." Harry cringed at her reproachful tone.

"I couldn't allow him to just die!" He protested, backing away from the irate witch into psycho's side.

Hermione stared at him, before rolling her eyes. "Why the hell do I even bother?" She muttered to herself. "Fine. Do as you want. "

"Thank you, mum." Harry snarked back, before becoming serious again. "So what was the bribe for?"

Hermione flushed. "I thought you'd forget about that." She mumbled.

Harry scoffed. "Hell no. So… Out with it."

"Um… I promised Molly and Ginny I would get you to the next Weasley meeting." She ground out, her cheeks flushing with mortification.

Harry stared at her, betrayed. "You _what?"_ He choked out, green eyes wide. "You know damn well why I hightailed outta here, and now, you're telling me you_ volunteered_ me like some kind of a sacrificial lamb?" He asked incredulously, making her cringe.

"Um.. About that… They kinda don't know about your adventure." She mumbled out, fidgeting.

Slowly, Harry blinked. "Are you telling me that nobody knows about your epic idiocy?" He asked slowly, his brain trying to wrap themselves around the facts.

"Uh, no," Hermione admitted sheepishly. "I just… told them you were brooding –"

"You mean '_sulking '–_ "Harry interrupted her dryly, wiggling his fingers to accent the air quotes –

"– somewhere and I had to promise to get you out, otherwise they would storm whatever place you were in." Hermione finished, cringing at the weak excuse.

"You do know that Grimmauld Place is nigh unplottable –"

"Um – about that – I kinda implied you were somewhere else, and I couldn't say outright you were traipsing in a different dimension!" Hermione replied, previously hesitant murmur morphing into a rebellious growl.

"And what would you have done if I couldn't come back?" Harry asked, keeping his emotions under wraps.

She shrugged. "Joined you, maybe?"

Harry face palmed at her blasé attitude.

"For a genius, you sure are an A-grade idiot."

Meanwhile, Kiriyama was quietly plotting how to get rid of the 'Molly' and 'Ginny' persons without incriminating evidence being left behind.

All in all, it was the beginning of an ordinary day for an extraordinary psycho.

_**/To Be Continued/**_


	38. Turn Me On

_TURN ME ON_

* * *

**_Disclaimer:_ **I don't own _Harry Potter_ or _Zettai Kareshi (Absolute Boyfriend)_. I only own this levil little snippet of a story.

_**Summary:**_ Petunia Dursley wanted a ...companion. Kronos Heaven has issued a new model of robots, designed for lonely ladies. And Harry Potter is the unlucky chap that is tasked with... turning on his dear Aunt's... most recent purchase. Oh, dear.

**_Shout Out:_** Yes, I am evil. Yes, I am mean for letting you stew so long in your juices... all summer long. In my defense, my own summer sustained from being a pack mule in various capacities - from helping on the fields, to being a proverbial golden retriever in orchard and when we were tiling the roof. No rest for the wicked, as they say. So, with the tender thoughts about you, my dear, loyal readers /_dangerous purr_/ I set on the search for the possible new plotdragons, and you can thank one of you busters outside for practically depositing it on my proverbial front door. It was cute, and evil and it needed some cuddling. Which I provided, and it grew to... _This /gulps/_. Took two days to write it out and nearly zombified me to the influences of Real World., much to the annoyance of my family. And I have to thank **_MHB_ **again for her superb work with beta-ing this, so it can make or break your brains on this fine day... or night, wherever you are. _**On this note, thank you all who offered the support with petition.** _You really made my day, and I hope I will make your days with my stories for a long time to come. Enjoy!

_**Warnings:** _Yikes. Well, as always, this is _**AU**_, officially after the fourth year. Does POV of Petunia Dursley count? As for pairing, it's _**Harry Potter/Orion White** _(original character, so don't steal) and mild **_one-sided Petunia Dursley/Orion White_**. This is _**LIME**_, meaning it will contain the explanation of the lovely phrase of 'turning someone on' in different contexts. Oh, and Harry attempting to grow emo mushrooms. Still here? Then go on, read it, brave souls.

**_PS:_** Inspiration came from that evil song _Turn Me On_, sung by Nicki Minaj. _/Mumbles, groaning/._ Lovely, I am getting zombified by the darned thing again..._/eyes one particular plotdragon evilly/_ Go listen to it on Youtube. Shoo.

* * *

Petunia Ann Dursley nee Evans was an ordinary woman. She was happily married, had a darling child and was generous enough to give shelter to that criminal brat of her no-good sister.

She was among one of more elegant and proper ones on her street, if not entire village, she had class and poise and...

Wait. Let's review our fascinating subject of scrutiny once more, shall we?

In a spotless kitchen, white with nary a color mixed in, if we exclude some black and chrome, a woman was fuming while waiting for her husband. Nothing unusual, you say? Well, let's take a closer look at her, shall we?

At first sight, we would noticethat the woman was skinny, almost abnormally so. Her brown hair was still thick, and cut fashionably. Her deep brown eyes would be an asset, if her face wasn't so very austere, the lines deepened and marginally concealed with the make-up. Her thin lips thinned even further as she looked at the clock at the wall.

Heaving an impatient sight, she rubbed the bridge of her nose, being careful so as not to smidge her powder. She was clothed in a conservative dress, brown with small pink flowers printed on the chest region, which didn't flatter her complexion as much as she thought it did. It was one of those impulsive purchases - the salesman flattered her, gushing over her, telling her how it enhanced her pale skin and brought out her eyes and really, no woman could wear this particular dress better than one Petunia Dursley.

However, in truth, it made her all the more mousy, ridiculous and pretty average, emphasizing how thin she was, the length of her neck and when the man looked at her face, he would only be turned off further with her penciled on eyebrows and a little bulged-out eyes. If that didn't turn the unfortunate male off, then her thin lips surely would.

It was the eleventh time one Vernon Dursley had failed to come home at the expected hour.

And Petunia Dursley fumed. This - eleventh time was to be the anniversary of their first date, but the big lug said he had to do something at Grunnings - something with new deals to be done, and really Petunia believed him, but being delegated to second place - no, _third_, if Dudley was counted in - sorely rankled her. She emitted a low hiss of impotent fury - something she wouldn't have done, as a proper lady, but there was no one to see her, as Dudley was off with his friends, playing, and Vernon was at work, thank you very much - not! – and she was safely ensconced in the only place the neighbors couldn't spy on her.

"Well, enough is enough." She muttered to herself, her fingers clenching into a fist as her eyes darkened with disappointment and anger. Sure, Vernon was a good husband, a normal husband, unlike the freak Lily had married, and Petunia would deny to her dying day that the freak was better than her darling Vernon in anything but….She huffed as she sharply turned to the stove, removing the boiling pot of water and meticulously adding two teaspoons of Earl Grey mix to the liquid. The soothing scent of the tea did little to placate her as she strode to the fridge, impatiently yanking the door open and pulling out the Black Forest cake she had bought for just this occasion, but now it seemed she would be enjoying all by her lonesome.

Carefully cutting herself a piece – one sixth of the entire round confection, how unusual of her - she then placed the piece on the plate before stashing the remaining cake back to the fridge.

The cake was all white and red and deep brown and Petunia usually wouldn't have sinned so much, what with cutting herself such a piece - normally, she would have cut herself a thin slice; only a third of her haul right now, but she was not in a good mood, or even a forgiving one, for that matter. Besides, Black Forest cake was one of her favorite treats and she really had gone too long without it, thanks to the new diet for her darling Vernon.

_'Not so darling anymore,'_ Petunia thought to herself sourly as she poured the tea in her favorite cup, before picking the plate with the slice of cake in one hand, and cup in the other and moved to the living room. Usually, she wouldn't have eaten there - God, what would the neighbors_ say,_ if she behaved so uncouthly. But right now, she didn't give a damn.

* * *

The walk was short and she arrived into the desired room without any mishaps. Delicately, she sat on the settee, being mindful of her burden, while half-listening to the TV news. She placed the cup on the club table, frowning a bit as she found some smudges on the glass part of it. But soon, her thoughts came back to her current problem.

One Vernon Dursley. He just wasn't…._it _…anymore. Petunia grimaced as she remembered her attempts to seduce him - that red see-through negligee and sexy underwear did absolutely nothing for her darling…. She made a show, sending him come-hither signals, and like any hot-blooded male, he should have caved in like a butter to hot knife, but instead of that, the berk looked at her and said "You look good, Pet," and then turned back to watching the football match!

Shame filled her like a bucketful of ice thrown directly on her head. She had tried so hard, she even dieted and all what that insensitive arse had to say to her was that she looked good!?

Nothing like _'You look good enough to eat._' Or _'You're beautiful.'_ Or maybe, and _just_ maybe _'C'mere, sexy_.' She only got absentminded smooch on a cheek nowadays and even then only if she reminded the man! Here she was, in her best years,a beautiful, good mother and good wife and what did she have to show for it?

Nothing!

But honestly, sex with Vernon as he was right now…Petunia sniffled as she munched on the second bite of the delicious treat….Well, no offense to Vernon, but it was more like sex with Vernon's stomach than anything else and she had to secretly buy herself some…. intimate lady-friends to alleviate the sexual tension. It was all the better that both her men were so often absent so she could… alleviate her tension.

However, that didn't doone whit. She wanted to be appreciated, worshipped even, to be treated like a queen, and in the bed, she wanted to experience a screaming orgasm like the heroines in her romantic novels often enjoyed. Petunia scowled as she reached for the tea cup –

_"- and now, Kronos Heaven company is introducing the new generation of robots, made exclusively for lovely ladies like you…."_

Blinking, she zeroed her attention at the screen where announcer was stirring the public in a storm with his words, standing beside the box, covered with deep blue velvet.

_"- and I give you the only and one** Robot Boyfriend!**"_ The announcer finally finished his rather long monologue and the velvet fell off, only to reveal a beautiful…. _Man?_

Petunia scoffed. Technology was all good and all, but this was taking it too far! Robot boyfriend?

_Bah!_ Did they think she was so scatterbrained she wouldn't notice the robot in question was a live being? Just… how dare they deceive innocent women so!

She fumed, gulping the tea down her threat in a rather unladylike manner. Sniffling indignantly, she switched the program, as the re-run of her favorite soap opera was just beginning to be aired and resolved to forget the entire episode.

However, somewhere in the back of her brain, the idea lodged itself, waiting for proper time to be thought about.

* * *

Three days later, Petunia Dursley was ready to climb the walls, what with how frustrated she was. Her favorite lady friend was destroyed from the overuse, Dudley found and dismantled the second one for… whatever school project he had - Petunia just about died from mortification when she had found out the remains of it in her Diddykins' room, but thankfully, the boy was too obtuse to know the device's true purpose, so she could say it was some new kind of a massage device instead of a true blue vibrator. The Kegel balls were just fine and dandy, but she was fed up with having to change her wet panties and with her shimmying around, the neighbors were already beginning to wonder whether she was having sciatica or some nerve damage of her hips.

Petunia huffed. Enough was enough. She wanted some hard, hot lovin', damn it! However, as a proper, well-bred lady, it was unthinkable for her to cheat on her darling Vernon, no matter how much she wanted to.

Vernon had already left for work, and Dudley was on some kind of a trip with his friends, so she was home alone. Normally, she would have visited one of neighbors, but with how… hot and bothered she was, it was out of the question. Sighing with desperation, she began to gather the dishes to put them into dishwasher. As usual, her two men had a hearty appetite, while she couldn't eat more than a pear and an apple. Today, she was clothed in a green skirt with a pale yellow blouse – comfortable and still elegant enough for any unusual visits.

She cleared the table with efficient motions borne of long practice, absentmindedly reaching for newspaper. Having nothing to work on right now, she sat down on the chair and began to browse the headlines.

Her attention was drawn to the beautiful man - he was really a stud and it made her thighs rub together just imaging what that kind of a stallion would do to her and then she blinked.

_**"No More Heartache. Want to find a perfect romance? Or **__**the**__** wildest ride of your life? Then don't hesitate, ladies…. Kronos Heaven is just the address to turn to!"**_

Disbelievingly, Petunia gaped at the article's proclamation. There it was claimed, black on white, that the company in question was producing robots, similar enough to the humans, to pass for one of them, and what was more, they could be programmed to be perfect boyfriends!

She was ready to scoff again… but then, she paused. Her eyes stopped at the man's picture - long, shoulder length shaggy hair, piercing blue eyes**,** tanned skin and that yummy six pack….Petunia tilted her head, blushing as she daringly looked at the man 's - _robot's,_ she sternly reminded herself - crotch.

Wow. _Definitely _stallion here. She gulped, swallowing the saliva down her throat. Well, that would definitely scratch the itch. And the best of all, it wouldn't be seen as cheating. Besides, it would be definitely a pleasurable step up from the vibrators and her other lady-friends.

Grabbing the newspaper and not caring that she wrinkled it, Petunia stormed into Dudley's room, intent on getting herself a man of her dreams, stubbornly ignoring the sticky wetness between her legs.

* * *

If one observed him, he or she would have remarked that the kid with awkward looking glasses and too big clothes was some kind of emo – or even better an emo-ish beggar. But that particular beggar was not a beggar in the slightest - if one observed him for a longer time, that person would notice the kid having an old fashioned trunk and even more odd, a bird cage for a remarkably big avian, not that the avian in question was present at the time.

The thing was, nobody noticed the kid much, and that suited the kid just fine. However, the kid wasn't a kid, but a teenager… and if that wasn't enough, he was a teenager witha rather… unusual set of problems on his shoulders. If you think his troubles consisted of him being smaller than his peers, inferiority complex and being bullied…. Well, you'd be halfway right.

However, that wouldn't be all of it. Add that being obsessively chased by some wannabe _'I-Wanna-Be -A–Wizarding-World's-Pimp-Daddy'_ with a penchant of murdering his opponents, of which the boy was on the top of the aforementioned psycho's dick - oops, excuse me, list, but not really wanting to be there, he was down because of the old adage that redheads really weren't to be trusted - case in point, his mummy, who had screwed up the plans of the Voldie-psycho with her sacrifice. However, talking about that particular set of redheads which managed to get him to out-emo himself this year…. They were his ex-bestie and ex-bestie's little sister, Mr. Ronald and Ginevra Weasley.

What exactly had happened? Oh, our darling hero just happened to stumble onto a very private and very interesting conversation, courtesy of the aforementioned duo.

* * *

Harry Potter was in a shock. In the last two hours, he had escaped the newly mutated snake of the species Voldiepoois Mutatotris cum Mus, or in the other words old Snakeface himself, he got booed out for yowling out the truth in a very naïve belief he would be heeded and thus he would have spared the innocent - _yeah right_ - lives of the esteemed peers, he had been dumpedwith a sack of the thousand galleons as if he were a hooker that performedan especially bad blowjob, and finally the rotten cherry on the top of the proverbial shit pile, he happened to overhear a juicy tidbit of information.

Well, not particularly juicy per se…. more like vinegar jelly with mustard on top, but you get the drift.

He had found out that one Ronald Billius Weasley was an annoying, jealous, pompous git with nary two bits of brain cells rubbing together if it weren't for chess, but for the aforementioned git to plot his demise so casually just after Cedric had died... was just uncouth and barbaric. However, what made Harry's non-existent many ego crumble to smithereens was the addition of one lovely Ginerva Molly Weasley and her very... _elaborate_ plans of snatching his person, helpfully getting it to drink the love-love confection of doubtful origins and then cheerfully proceed with one-sided horizontal tango. And then all the works - white wedding, then the poor hubby will fall ill, and she would playthe devoted little wife, manning their finances and all, along with helping her clever brother with _Cannons_, of course….

Harry felt sick. His Emo-meter had broken under the massive duress, and for once, his mope-itis made itself useful what with keeping nosy bodies away… marginally, of course. Even Hermione edged away from him, while both Weaslets tried to ingratiate themselves to him, but with no apparent success…. Harry at least had some presence to explain it as a deep and profound sadness with Diggory's unnecessary death, and the pathetically sad truth was, it was even true.

The return back was mildly normal - mildly because Malfoy just couldn't shut his gob up, and ended being hexed rather extensively - and painfully, with Harry using some very…. interesting curses. The Malfoy line would just have to deal with any of the blonde ferret's offspring having very hairy posteriors, females having six nipples and with males having a triple amount of cocks than usual. And the best thing was, the charms were not able to be traced back to Harry…. Because semi- accidental magic was just _awesome_ like that and if worse came to worst, Harry could just argue it was a very unfortunate improvement of the Malfoy line, courtesy of a few hexes and curses blending together very unbeautifully.

* * *

So one H.J. Potter trudged back to the Dursley residence properly cowed in, not caring a whit about what the world thought about his woes and intent on polishing his levels of emoness to the scarily high heights over the summer. He didn't have anything else to do, anyway.

The neighborhood was still cookie-cutterish like usual, even the plants were the same, and the sun had the gall to shine cheerfully while it should just go and die already.

Disinterestedly, he looked at the men delivering the big crate, with Aunt Petunia fluttering around and ordering them where to go and all of this. He blinked. Wasn't Aunt Petunia unusually… springy?

And in a pink dress with big white hearts… something that looked like something a demented zombie would wear on a romantic date?

Finally the men managed to get the parcel in, and to Harry's disinterested surprise, they left it in the living room. One of the men looked at him pityingly and shook his head, making him tilt his head with confusion.

"What?" He asked the man - Jack was written on his name tag and he seemed like an irritatingly cheerful fellow, although with dealing with Aunt Petunia, a great part of his cheerfulness plummeted down. "I pity ya, lad." Jack looked over him, cool gray eyes under the messy shoulder length light brown hair that was partially gathered in a ponytail as he minutely moved the cap on his head. "I recommend ya to buy some earplugs. Yer mom seems kinda…. Frisky." Harry blinked. "She is not my mother." He automatically responded, making the man - Jack - look at him with even more pity." And why would I need the earplugs? Aunt Petunia is not very loud – "

Jack lifted his hand, forestalling any other explanations. " You don't want to know. Really, you don't." He shook his head emphatically. "Just trust me, okay?" Harry gulped at the foreboding words. Huh. It seemed he wouldn't be able to polish his emoness to awesome levels after all.

Mike - the other guy and a very nondescript one - helped him to get the trunk in his room, while Jack took care of the few left formalities with Aunt Petunia.

* * *

Half an hour later, Harry was cordially invited to the grand unveiling of Aunt Petunia's recent and very magnificent purchase, if she said so.

"Well? Open the crate, boy!" Petunia barked up impatiently, as she nervously patted her hair to ensure herself it was indeed in perfect condition.

Not even sparing her a glance, Harry woodenly complied. The crate was big, almost as tall as a freezer and a mite bit smaller in width and length. The entire thing looked ridiculously out of place in an otherwise immaculate living room, but who was Harry to comment on this?

An emo little orphan, that's who.

The afternoon sun shone cheerfully as he set on dismantling the ropes, duct tape and all other paraphernalia that kept the crate closed. For something so very… bound, it was disturbingly easy to remove and Harry began to wonder just what were they thinking, packing something fragile in a so very loosely sealed crate.

He opened the crate, only to hold back a grimace as he saw a bunch of scrunched up paper.

Well, won't that be a bitch to clean afterwards…

His aunt managed a small squeal, that made him pause, but a quick glare from her made him begin removing the papery annoyances. And even if he were under torture, Harry wouldn't admit he was also curious just what had Aunt Petunia in such a tizzy. But from what Jake had told him… Harry gulped… It was something that didn't bode too well with for him.

He blinked as he removed a ball of paper and something vaguely… hairy poked out.

Wait, hairy? Harry blinked. Did Marge finally snap and murder someone then send the corpse to Aunt Petunia?

He really hoped not.

And then, he uncovered a foot.

_'Oh, great. I am living with a secret necrophiliac.'_ Harry thought to himself glumly. Was it too late to claim no relations to the basket case that was wiggling on a settee and hungrily watching the… unveiling, so to say?

_'It was,'_ Harry concluded sourly. _'Damn.'_

When he finally cleared up the annoying things… and stashed them away in a litter bag, as dear Auntie didn't want mess around - he was required to get the … corpse out of the crate and place it on the couch… and that was not a small feat, as the man weighed at least 12 stones and with him-corpse-whatever - being naked… oh, boy. Harry himself weighed seven and a half stones in wet clothing, so it was understandable.

Not that it helped his mortification any. Come on, you try to deal with apparently dead to the world person that is the same gender and completely naked all under your aunt's watchful eyes, and then let's see if you will feel just dandy!

Besides the man was… hung. Like, _hung._ Like, _Hippogriff _hung -

_Ahem._ Let's not even get here.

Harry shuddered as he noticed Petunia's moony eyes at the hunk on the couch. Suddenly, Jake's warnings made awful sense.

"Um, Aunt Petunia?" he asked, carefully inching away - or trying to. Whatever illicit necrophiliac affairs she wanted to have with her new… partner, Harry didn't want to be part of it… in any way, shape or form.

"Clean up, boy," Petunia ordered him sharply, her eyes still on the love hook - ahem, member of the corpse. Harry gladly complied - because it was only cardboard and a light, but sturdy palette, the clearing of the remaining wrappings went quickly. Harry picked up a small book that looked like a manual. It was certainly colorful enough, and on the front it had a printed logo of some company named _Kronos Heaven._

"Aunt Petunia, do you want the instruction –"

"Throw it away and burn it!" Petunia interrupted him impatiently as she licked her lips, reminding Harry of a particularly starved feline, namely one Mrs. Norris. Actually, Mrs. Norris would be offended, so let's just go with a starved feline.

Shuddering, he threw the manual in the litter bag which he dragged to the cupboard under the stairs and stashed it inside. Waste not, want not, and all that shit.

He returned to the living room with a great reluctance, not wanting to be a witness of the horny female horse mauling the poor corpse - surely there was a law against such things? If there wasn't there should have been.

* * *

Petunia was practically purring as she was eyeing her newest toy. It was so worth filching away almost ten grand pounds from Vernon's secret stash… the hunk was gorgeous. And hung. And did she mention he was hung?

The hunk in question was a male, six point one inches tall with lightly tanned golden skin that stretched over the firm muscles - not too big or bulky, but just right, with eight pack and firm hairless chest. The man's face was angular, with shaggy mahogany colored hair with faint auburn highlights and slightly darker eyebrows. The only hair the man had besides hair and lashes and a small bush on his crotch was a smattering of beard on his sculpted chin , making him look like some kind of a very sexy pirate. Petunia suppressed a shudder when she imagined what his eyes would look like…. _Ooh!_ They cost quite a lot, them being specially customized and all, but they were worth it. More than worth it, in fact...

She hummed cheerfully, but then frowned. She was really not clothed in her sexiest getup… and she wanted the man - Jones - to see her in all her splendor before he began to worship her…

Scratch that, she was just plain horny. And she would be getting some!

"Aunt Petunia?" The boy's voice shook her from her little fantasies.

She blinked.

"Right." She collected herself, discreetly checking of there was any drool dribbling down on her chin. "I am going to change clothes. Turn him on and go to your room."

Green eyes behind those dreadful bottle gasses widened to saucer proportions. "Er…I have to turn him on?" The boy practically squeaked out.

Petunia stood up and strode to the door. "Yes." She bit out, inhaling a shaky breath. It was a privilege she was granting to the little urchin and he was daring to question her!

"But he doesn't have any switch–" She chose not to listen to his wailings.

"Turn him on or no supper for you." She growled out, before storming away, anxious to get on the little red lacy number she had been saving – in vain - for her darling Vernon. Served him right, ha.

Harry stared after Petunia's retreating back.

"She really didn't mean that I have to wank him awake, did she?" He muttered, his eyes still wide with mortification.

* * *

Now, dear readers, as you know, procreation is one of the favorite topics of the humanity, be it for loving or recreational purposes. So it is safe to say most of the teenagers became intimately acquainted with the knowledge of the S-E-X word and all that it pertains to fairly early, however our darling Harry was fairly sheltered and it didn't help that he was a mini celebrity and expected to already know about such things, despite of the proofs of contrary - his date-non-date at Yule notwithstanding.

"So… Turning on." Harry mumbled to himself, feeling a blush suffuse his face until he was sure he was as red as a lobster. He knew what that entailed but while they all talked about it and occasionally saw a boner or two in the showers, there was no manual turning on their knobs between them.

And darling Harry was now in an unenviable position to … turn the bloke on to wake him up… by wanking the said bloke. The problem was, he didn't know how to wank. The unfortunate perk of being a hero and all that.

"It shouldn't be so hard… should it?" He muttered to himself as he cautiously dared to look at the man's meat stick.

Biting his lip, he hesitantly reached for the …stick.

But… He hesitated. What if the man wakes up? How would he… explain what was he doing?

Something like_: "Excuse me, sir, but my Aunt told me to wake you and I wanked you up."_

He winced at the imaginary situation.

"Ew. Bad images." He muttered to himself. But a man's gotta eat so a man's gotta do whatever he has to get a grub, and Harry Potter would earn his grub… even if that meant wanking some poor sod awake. He could at least do that for the man, before Petunia scared his babymakers into the next great adventure.

He cautiously looked at the man's face and then, gathering his relatively small bit of Gryffindor courage, he seized the thing.

The first thought that ran through his brain?

_'Man, I am holding a sausage. A warm sausage at that.'_

Harry gulped. He knew he wouldn't ever look at sausages without remembering the… sausage… in his hand. Strike that, sausages just found themselves on the first place in his Least Favorite Things to Eat. And considering that he didn't have many exceptions of what he actually chowed down, this was a new kind of record. Really, Voldemort would only have to offer him a sausage, and he would have folded like a wet sheet of paper, the Wizarding Cowards be damned.

So he swallowed down bile and began to move his hand.

The… sausage in his hand was very familiar to the one hiding in his trousers…. albeit his was way smaller. He would have felt sausage envy…. If he weren't stuck with the chore of getting the sausage to life.

It was big. It was heavy. It was…. human-like. And it was damned hard to get hard. The thing just…. Flopped. Harry growled with frustration. He clenched the hand the hardest he could, almost to the point he was strangling the dick - pun intended - and still the damned thing was like a wet noodle.

* * *

_Rubba dubba. Rubba dubba._ Time trickled away and still nothing.

_'Maybe rubbing it harder would be the key. '_ Harry thought to himself miserably and a little bit viciously. He had heard some blokes liked some pain with a pleasure so… he would oblige.

Ten minutes passed and Harry was no closer to his grub than he was at the beginning. He was panting with exertion his fingers hurt and would the damned thing_ just get hard already!_

He heard Aunt Petunia coming down and he panicked. "Will you just wake up already!" He hissed at the man, who, for all purposes and appearances still snoozed away –

_"What the hell are you doing!?"_ Aunt Petunia shrieked at him, making Harry jump into the air with a frightened yelp.

"I - Well, I, I am turning him on!" Harry spluttered up as Petunia marched to him, thankfully clothed in a red silk robe. He gulped, totally forgetting he still had hands on the … meat stick.

"You _idiot_!" She hissed, her darkened eyes sparkling with fury. "You just have to kiss him!"

Harry gawped. Had he really spent fifteen minutes wanking the berk while he could just smooch him and hightail out of here?

Yes, he did.

And now he was mentally scarred for life.

"You said I had to turn him on - you never told me _how!"_ He hissed back, his hands inadvertently clenching his… prize.

Petunia flushed. "Well, yes." She coughed delicately. "It was in the manual–"

'And when, pray tell, have I had the time to read on it?' Harry thought back at her viciously but he held his mouth shut.

"I'll leave it to you." He interrupted her with a tired sigh as he unclenched his hands from the man's member. "May I go to my room now, please?"

Petunia sniffled primly. "Well–"

And then, there was a familiar sound of a car coming–

Petunia's eyes widened. "Oh, shit." She swore, not heeding Harry's eyes widening with surprise.

Well, Petunia Dursley _never_ swore and that meant like _never ever._

"Get him into the cupboard," she snapped at Harry, who eyed her incredulously.

"Are you bloody mad? He weighs at least twice as much as I do and he is not… turned on, whatever that means!" Harry blurted out incredulously. He would have enjoyed Petunia's mortified blush, but right now, there was an issue with Vernon coming home and if he finds a corpse, there would be a hell to pay.

Especially if it was a corpse of a hunk-waiting-to-be-turned-on-but-not-by-wanking.

"Fine, I will help you." Petunia hissed as she quickly neared the man, grabbing him under the armpits while Harry hurried and grabbed his ankles.

Both Harry and Petunia simultaneously blessed Vernon's gut girth as it gave them an added time to get the man somewhere where Vernon wouldn't have seen it. Ergo, cupboard.

Harry found out that Petunia was surprisingly strong for such a rail thin woman. It made the process all the easier, and he would be soon free to continue advancing his emo force, meaning going on an extended guilt trip. And of course, burying the first - and probably last - wank session into the deepest recesses of his mind.

Quickly shuffling to the cupboard, Petunia managed to open the door and stuff her part of a man in - not very carefully, but well, who cared about that. Harry also helped –

"Pet, I'm home!" Vernon's not-so-lovely bas echoed through the house and Harry yelped as he was harshly pushed into the cupboard, landing on the man and then, the door was slammed behind him, and to Harry's great horror, he heard the click a of key, signaling he was well and truly caught in the mess.

* * *

Pure darkness.

"Well, damn." Harry muttered to himself and tried to straighten up.

Could the day go any worse?

He heard Petunia greet Vernon, her voice high and tittering with nervousness. Harry grimaced. Petunia's voice was never one of her better qualities, but with her being nervous, it just grated on his nerves.

Although… his lips slowly curled into a smirk. He now had a great blackmail on her…. Even if it threatened to bleach his brain with the horror of it all.

But then, his head bumped up and his lips brushed against the lips of the… living statue.

Sighing with annoyance, he thunked his head against the strong shoulder, never noticing the previously still arm twitching and slowly snaking around his waist.

"Well hello, lover." An unknown whiskey voice purred against Harry's ear, making the poor boy confused. There was no one here was there?

"Huh?" he asked dumbly, as he squinted to see better in the darkness.

The body beneath his moved, and suddenly, there was something very warm, and solid moving in his pants, grabbing his sausage.

_**"AAAARGH!"**_

Dear readers, we can forgive Harry's sudden…. explosion of emotions. He had been forced to come out of his corner of woe, unpack Aunt Petunia's newest toy, then he was forced to turn on the said toy - although he had done so unsuccessfully in the first attempt, and then, he was a co-conspirator when they needed to hide Petunia's… toy and well, the poor guy just wanted to make himself a little bit comfier.

And in process, he nearly got a heart attack when he was groped without the tiniest bit of shame or mercy.

Well, at least his imitation of a high soprano was faultless.

* * *

"What was that?" Vernon grunted out as he looked up from his lovely wife who was feeling especially amorous today.

"Vernon?" Petunia blinked, frowning in a fake confusion – well, not so fake anymore. "Oh, you mean the boy. I sent him to get the cupboard in order. Maybe he was bitten by a spider…nasty little things." She shuddered in revulsion. Immediately, Vernon grunted protectively. "Don't worry, Pet. Just leave the boy to deal with them." He smirked maliciously, totally disregarding that the scream was not a scream of pain but a scream of fear.

Meanwhile, Petunia had her hunch about what had happened but with her having to distract Vernon, she couldn't do anything. Swallowing down the irritation, she smiled at her walrus of a husband sweetly, inviting him to a glass of finest whiskey to celebrate his pay raise.

While Petunia was busy with praising her husband, Harry was dealing with one particular 'spider'. Or was the 'spider' dealing with him? Let's see.

* * *

After nearly getting a heart attack - or two - or three - Harry attempted to struggle out of the… zombie's embrace. He gasped for air, huffing frantically, as his heart was beating erratically, his blood spreading like a sheet of quicksilver ice through his veins. The first shock of the corpse being suddenly revived was overrode by having his junk fondled by a very…. fond and grabby hand, while he was pressed against the firm living, breathing body with Hippogriff-like sausage between his legs.

Shock was intermingled with pleasure and terror and Harry wasn't sure he would like to get off on that kind of a cocktail of feelings, because that would mean he was a masochist and Voldemort's yearly little visits were really welcomed when they were really not – and give him a break, he was still kind of a virgin although on the verge of being very de-virginized by that creepo of a zombie in here - was the thing a Vampire or what to …be, euh, turned on in darkness? Harry didn't know many things about Vampires, but well, it would be a plausible theory –

"You are a very strange kind of a girl, wanting to do it in here." The same voice purred out and

Harry's scatterbrained mind was grappling with the surreal reality of it all, finally cobbling a response.

"I_-ah_ - am a boy, you dumbass!" He managed to gasp out as he tried to wiggle away from his captor.

"…. Ah." The fondling ceased, much to Harry's relief and embarrassment. There was only the sound of Harry's harsh breathing echoing in the small, dusty place. He relaxed a bit, shuffling with embarrassment as he felt the stickiness in his boxers.

"Uh, yeah." He mumbled out, not wanting to look at the man, even If there was a total darkness between them.

"I apologize." The same velvety voice sounded out, making Harry slump his shoulders with relief.

"Okay… you didn't know…" he managed to get out, with a small, uncomfortable smile."S- Sorry for wanking you, though."

"Oh, don't be sorry. I enjoyed it thoroughly." The man answered, a smile in his voice, making Harry gape with mortification. "W – Wha? Then – then why didn't you-?" Harry fumbled for words as he pressed his hands on the man's wide chest unconsciously as to make a distance between them.

"I wasn't turned on." The man replied matter-of-factly, making Harry fume with frustration.

Green eyes narrowed. "What do you mean,_ you weren't turned on_?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous as he shifted closer, his face in the face of the man, as his eyes tried to bore through the darkness. "Well… I wasn't kissed yet."

The short, candid explanation left our hero gawping and bereft. "_K-Kissed?_ You mean, all I had to do to…. turn you on was to kiss you?" he asked, flabbergasted.

The man cocked his head. "Yeah. Didn't you read the manual?" His voice was pure curiosity, making Harry splutter with confused agitation… " No I didn't!" Harry shot back, irritated. " Aunt Petunia ordered me to turn you on, but not _how!_" He growled out, mortified, feeling his cheeks blazing with heat of the blush. "What in the blazes are you?"

"I am Robot Boyfriend number 023." The man informed him calmly.

Harry stared. "I wanked off a_ robot_." He said numbly. "Yes." The man agreed pleasantly. "The… wank was also very pleasurable."He added helpfully.

Harry growled. "No, you don't understand. I wanked off a robot that is a _sex toy_ of my Aunt." He choked out, feeling green around the proverbial gills. "_Urgh_. Imma think I'm going to be sick." Immediately he was nestled in a more comfortable position, with one large hand soothingly rubbing his back.

"You don't need to worry about that anymore." The voice rumbled in his ear, relaxing him further.

"So, may I know your name?" Harry nodded weakly. "I am Harry. Harry Potter. And your name is…?" Harry prodded back, disregarding a tiny voice in his head screaming at him that it wasn't wise to blab out his real name to a total stranger that just molested him. No matter how pleasurable the… ehem, molestation part was.

"I don't have one." The man answered back, making Harry blink with confusion. "What do you mean, you don't have one?" Harry asked frowning as he shifted again.

The man hummed thoughtfully. "Well, usually it takes an owner to name a Robot Boyfriend however and wherever she wishes."

"I am not a girl." Harry grumbled out petulantly. "So what were you called then?"

The man cringed. "Er well… She wanted to name me Jones." Harry winced at the name. Well, nobody said Petunia was particularly brilliant at choosing names – Dudley was a case in point.

"Yikes. I feel sorry for you." Harry mumbled out, not noticing the man slowly drawing him closer.

"Thank you. So hypothetically, if you had to name me, what would you call me?" The man asked casually, making Harry blink with confusion.

"Why me?" Harry asked, honestly baffled. "You are Aunt Petunia's… er, _toy _and she should name you." He felt the man shudder with revulsion and instantly felt sorry for the poor chap. "I'd rather have something other to be called than this…. Jones thing." The man admitted uncomfortably, making Harry wince in sympathy.

"Uhm, well… What about Orion?" Harry inquired, making the man jerk under him.

_["Acknowledged. My name from henceforth will be Orion White… Entering the necessary data into the database….. number 023 changing identity , call name: Orion, surname: White. Changing identity confirmed, please enjoy your purchase__.__"]_ Harry gawped at the nonsensical words – "Euh - what? Hey you, what the heck are you talking about?" He leaned forward as to shake the man out of his …stupidity, only for the back of his head to be grabbed in a firm grip and his mouth was plundered with a very human-like tongue.

_"-Mrph!"_ He managed to get out, his eyes the size of a saucers. 'What the fuck just happened?' But that though was swiftly wiped out of his brain as his mouth was tongue-raped for the first time in the time since they were unceremoniously punted into the Luv Shack - oh, excuse the pun, the cupboard.

He flailed helplessly, even trying to bite the smug son of a bitch's tongue, but the man – Orion now - was just too clever and besides the kiss wasn't half bad either.

"_Mh_-_Mmmh!"_ Harry whined into the man's mouth in protest and finally, he could gulp some precious air in his lungs. Wiggling a little, he felt something definitely lumpy under his behind. At first, he was confused, but then, he remembered one particular sausage and…

Bingo. Let's give our Wonder Boy a reward, shall we?

"What the _fuck_?" Harry hissed at the man, sorely tempted to box in his ears. "Why the hell did you–"

He flushed, unable to finish the sentence. "Snog you?" Orion finished dryly. "Well, isn't that what good boyfriends do to their significant others?"

Harry didn't feel his jaw slacken with disbelief.

Boyfriend? As in_ Boy_ with a _Friend,_ instead of _Girl _plus a _Friend,_ meaning he was now in some kind of a Significant Relationship which he had managed to enter without any previous knowledge on his part, meaning with all the perks and pitfalls it entailed and…. Was that a boner under his rump?

Cautiously, Harry tested his theory with groping under the man's proverbial belt.

Apparently it was.

He blinked.

Here he was, in a cupboard, holding a part of the man's - robot's - junk In his hand, which was, by the way, standing at attention, he had been snogged out of his wits and informed he was to be the lover of the owner of the junk in his hand and wasn't that just grand –

The cupboard crashed open and Harry instinctually snapped his head toward the noise, blinking painfully as the light pierced his retinas.

Half the second later he had wished he never looked at the opened door…. Or precisely, whatever was between them.

His mouth worked before his brain caught with them, much to Harry's belated horror.

Wide green eyes looked at the rail thin woman, clothed in the most revealing red lingerie ever standing in front of the cupboard, her smile frozen in a parody of sexy expression.

"Ew. I _so _didn't want to see the horse in lingerie."

"Ditto." Orion's faint reply wasn't very encouraging either, with how pissed Aunt Petunia seemed to be at his casual remark.

* * *

_'That horrible, no good freak of a boy!'_ Petunia fumed. She was not a horse in lingerie, thank you very much! She was skinny, but with curves and Jones should have worshipped her, but apparently, the brat somehow managed to poison him against her –

Well, no matter. Vernon would be sleeping like a log, what with all of the sleeping pills she mixed in his favorite sauce, so she had enough time to teach the brat some manners and still enjoy Jones'…. Ehem, underbelt gifts.

"Boy! Get out and leave us alone!" She snapped at the freak who was still in daze. She watched with satisfaction how he snapped at attention and made to leave Jones but frowned, as Jones tugged the freak back, tucking his hand under his manly chin.

"He won't be getting anywhere without me." Jones' velvety voice sounded out, making her almost swoon, before she caught the word's meaning.

Immediately, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. "What do you mean? I am your lover, Jones!" She snapped out. "Now, be a dear and leave the freak…we have some unfinished business," She purred at the hunk, but the hunk only frowned at her.

"Excuse me, Ma'am, but you are not my anything. The instruction manual explicitly says whoever kisses the Robot Boyfriend first, this person would be keyed in the Robot Boyfriend's database as its lover." The man explained, as he stared at her, his unusual eyes cool and collected, and not a speck of warmth in them.

"B – But –" Petunia stuttered, flabbergasted.

Harry's head snapped back at the man. "What the fuck! Just because of one accidental smooch I am not your… _whatever _you may wish me to be!" He snapped at the man, his emerald green eyes boring into those unique colored ones of his latest…. acquisition.

* * *

The man blinked. "Harry darling, there is nothing that can be done about it right now." He smiled at the fiery teen in his lap, inwardly cataloguing his lover's …. characteristics for later perusal and personal memory databanks.

The teen which awkwardly sat in his lap was like an unruly, scruffy kitten. Orion mused to himself. Black, messy hair, still had scrapes from the whatever tumble he was in, and he had minor muscle tremors - Orion inwardly frowned, his lover really was a hapless one, not taking care of himself – he was clothed in some oversized clothes that furthered the impression of him being some rumpled kitten playing in a bunch of castaway clothes.

The boy's face was characterized with high cheekbones and mildly squared jaw, but not too much, it was still inthe soft transition to its more adult shape. He had on awkward bottle gasses behind which he hid green eyes. On his forehead, there was an intriguing bolt-shaped cut and he had chapped pink lips that were still a little bit moistened from the latest kiss. He was still flushed a bit, but now more from anger and confusion than anything else.

From what he could feel in the cupboard, the boy was small and thin, but he still felt some scabbed-over wounds - one particularly alarming one was on the lad's forearm, and there were some bandages wrapped around the other one. The lad's legs were thin and packed with wiry muscles, so he at least did some exercise, but whatever he was doing, he had been overexerting himself.

"Orion! Back to Planet Earth, will ya!" The boy's impatient voice snapped him out of his observations, making him smile apologetically.

"Of course." He replied amiably. "Now, if we could get out of the cupboard, I would be much obliged…it does get awfully cramped in here." He offered smoothly, and immediately the boy disentangled from his form, making him frown in confused disappointment as Harry disregarded him in his attempt to get out as fast as possible.

* * *

Harry wasn't one for Slytherin tendencies much, but right now, he felt it was safe to employ all his wits in order to flee the wacko Aunt Petunia wanted for her lover, but somehow, Harry's bad luck just had to kick in as he - Orion - seemed not to regard him as a … _gulp…_ lover.

Not that he came far, or course. Even if he managed to get to the door, he was snagged by the waist courtesy of one armed hug of the... zombie gigolo, or whatever that thing was.

He struggled, even growling and trying to kick the man, but the bastard was apparently either immune to pain or just plain made from steel to disregard his…little offensive on his person.

"Calm down, darling." Orion squeezed the youth to him as if he were some kind of a teddy bear.

"I am _not_ your darling!" Harry snarled back, incensed, as he struggled anew, only to cease after a warning squeeze. The man's strength was ridiculous, and Harry didn't relish having a wasp-like waist. No, thank you very much!

"So what should I call you then?" Orion asked his captive, as he ducked out of the smallish place elegantly. A small grumble and obvious internal debate later, Harry sighed. "Harry. Just Harry."

"Noted." Orion blinked as he straightened out, utterly unashamed of his buff state, but still not willing to let go of his little lover.

"Uh, Aunt Petunia?" Harry asked his only ally, trying to turn around, only to be halted by means of a hand gently grabbing his chin and nudging his head up to look in those eyes.

They always told him what unusual eyes he had, Harry thought dazedly, but against those, his emerald green orbs completely paled in comparison.

The man's eyes were ice blue with dark blue corona and small gold and brown flecks around the iris, and two or three deep blue shades on that ice blue.

"No, you can't!" Petunia's outburst jerked both of them out of whatever trance they managed to get themselves into.

Orion's head jerked away, as he snarled at the snoopy woman. "I've told you already that you don't have any say in who my lover is as you clearly didn't read the instructions." His voice was now on the verge of very polite dislike instead of disinterest.

"Neither did I." Harry spat out, glowering at the smug bastard.

"Ah, ah, ah… your case is different, Harry," Orion purred as he smirked mischievously at his prey.

"You kissed me, thus activating my processor, which fine-tuned my person to you, so in essence, you just made me your lover." Orion smiled a small, gentle smile at his fuming charge, enjoying the dash of red on those pale cheeks.

"So what?" Petunia quite rudely interrupted the duo. "I will kiss him and then Jones will be mine."

She smiled what she thought was a sultry smile, but instead it only made her look half smug and half constipated.

"Put me down." Harry demanded, glaring at the man. All of this nonsense was beginning to make his head ache something terrible, and he really wished for a bed and some quiet to curl into a small ball and sleep…. If he ever could. Nightmares were always an option.

Reluctantly, the man put him down, but to Harry's dismay, he still held his wrist, so escape was out of the question. Drat.

"Listen. I am not, and I will be never your lover." He sighed, massaging his temple wearily. "I am only a kid, I have a mass-murderer on my heels and for the last time, _I. Am. Not. Gay._ The one who ordered your sorry arse was her," He pointed at the fuming Aunt Petunia, who smiled smugly, "And I would appreciate if you would undo any mumbo-jumbo I accidentally managed to turn on and be her … whatever she wanted you for. Now excuse me, I want to retire to my room. Aunt Petunia, if you would?" He asked his aunt, who distractedly nodded as she shamelessly perused the man's body. Harry shivered. Poor sod. Normally he wouldn't have subjected anyone to Aunt Petunia's tender mercies, but right now, his Slytherin mindset was prevalent over his Gryffindor one, and he just wanted his peace. Raising emo mushrooms was important business and he had already lost precious time what with … the latest heist.

Orion's shoulders dropped as he listened to the boy's tirade. It simply didn't compute. "Why did you kiss me then?" He asked, his voice lost.

Green eyes blinked at him. "It was an accident." He murmured, blushing as he ducked his head. "I didn't see anything in the cupboard, and I didn't know that it would… turn you on." He shrugged helplessly. "I just wanted to be more comfortable in case Aunt Petunia was late in getting us out."

Slowly, Orion nodded. "It's… plausible." He murmured unhappily. "And what is with you having a mass-murderer on your heels?" He asked, his voice regaining its previous steel.

Harry cringed. "None of your business," he retorted sharply. "Just get through your thick skull I don't want you, and go back to Aunt Petunia!" He managed to yank his wrist out of the man's hold and bolted for the safety of his bedroom.

Orion looked at the retreating youth forlornly. "He really doesn't want me, does he?" He muttered, his broad shoulders slumping in defeat.

He flinched as that detestable human horse in lingerie touched him. "Forget him. I want _you,_ darling," The woman purred, making him cringe inwardly at her breathy innuendo. "So come with me, Jones–"

She pressed her non-existent breasts against his arm.

That clinched it for him.

"It doesn't matter." He answered as he looked into her eyes. "I will make him mine. And for future reference, I am Orion White." He gently pried the woman off of his arm and headed after his soon-to-be-lover.

"But I _paid_ for you!" Petunia hissed, dismayed. The hunk was gorgeous, but that Potter brat just had to ruin it all, didn't he?

Orion looked at the red-clad woman unimpressed. "He turned me on. By the way, thanks for not telling him how to turn me on, I enjoyed the…_ 'human'_ method very much." He purred out, his eyes glinting wickedly in the afternoon, making the woman splutter with embarrassment and anger.

"I - I will call for the dismantling squad!" Petunia threatened him, her voice trembling with fury.

Orion cocked his head. "Go ahead. I will just show them conversation before my activation." He told her dismissively, making her squeak with indignant embarrassment.

"You- you-!" She spluttered out, shocked at his audacity.

"Play_ dirty_, my dear, and I will play even _dirtier_." He purred into her ear, making her involuntary shudder with pleasure. "Now, where do you have clothes? I am in dire need of some."

"This isn't over yet." She snapped back, but her cheeks were suspiciously warm.

An arched dark eyebrow lifted at her bold declaration. "I don't expect it to be." Orion rumbled, his lips stretching in a dangerous, albeit sensual smirk.

Shivering again, Petunia whirled around, sharply motioning him to follow her.

* * *

Harry tried to mope. Really, he did. He tried to recall that last year an all of its misery and angst, but somehow, his thought always circled back to that … person. True, Orion was a robot, but

Harry couldn't think of him in a context of being a machine - Orion was too… life-like for it to work. And… it was… flattering to have someone to concentrate on his person like this - not because he had survived the Killing Curse, not because he was a Parseltongue or anything else, but simply because he was Harry.

Harry shifted uncomfortably, curling deeper under the threadbare blanket. With all the adoration and dissing the Wizarding World was heaping upon him, he still didn't have time to think about romantic… matters as it were, even if he did have a brief crush on Cho. However, having a crush and being crushed on were two different things. And being so blatantly pursued made him equally excited as he was mortified and uneasy. The sum of his experiences with his male admirers were the Creevy siblings, and they weren't good examples of pursuers, what with them being too star - struck with the legend that made itself around him, and not knowing just Harry.

And besides… the kiss was, as far as the kisses went very…. nice. It was something unusual, something new and Harry really had to wonder just how people even breathed through that kind of thing, but otherwise, the experience was brilliant, and he would have something to gush about to his friends…. Or not. He deflated at the thought of his two sidekicks. He didn't know about Hermione, but two men kissing in the Muggle world was still a no-no topic of conversation. And Ron… Let's not even get there. Ron would probably murder him on spot for daring to sully himself with another bloke. Harry's face darkened at the thought of his…_ex-friend._ Not that Ron knew about it, but with what Harry had overheard when the idiotic redhead talked to his harpy of a sister, one Ron Weasley was as good as deadto Harry.

Harry hunched into himself even more, trying to ignore the pangs of sadness, loneliness and resentment that echoed in his heart. What he wouldn't give for a kind hand and a soft, friendly word right now…

Slowly, he closed his eyes and relaxed as the darkness crept across his eyelids, and Harry fell into the well-deserved dreamless sleep.

_**/To Be Continued/**_


	39. Aim To Misbehave

_AIM TO MISBEHAVE_

* * *

**_Disclaimer:_**I don't own _Harry Potter_ or _Firefly - _I only own this little sexy, naughty, an' bitchy snippet of a story.

**_Summary:_** High as a kite, and depressed that his best friend is marrying his other best friend, Harry does the unbelievable, impossible and improbable. He had managed to... summon alternate Hermione. However, there are a couple of things wrong with his misdeed…

**_Shout Out:_** _Ri-ight._ So, I am piping up again, and hellaciously late. I apologize in advance for not updating sooner - my beta has trouble with her router - meaning it had somehow gone off to the deep end, via her parents _/sad shake of head/, _and so I am delaying updates, as the stories are not beta-ed yet. Also, I have an exam for masseuse course soon /_shivers with dread/,_ and I really really hope to get it done successfully. (Wish me luck... cause I really need it. Pretty please? _/puppy eyes o' doom/_)On the bright side, when **_MHB_** is back online, I would be able to update both **_Among The Hawks And Doves_** and **_Fire And Ice_** - **_Crimson Sagittarius_** is still in the beginning of the works so it will be updated a mite bit late. As for this story - well, **_MHB _** prodded and poked until I folded - it was her Christmas present and the last thing she managed to beta before the router went yippee-ki-yay to router heavens. Finally got to editing it as much as possible, so here it is for your entertainment.

**_Warnings:_** **_AU-verse_** - when it's not, huh? Also, the characters may be**_ OOC_**. This is **_slash_** as usual, and the flavor of the... um, moment, is **_Malcolm (Mal) Reynolds/Harry Potter_**. Blame my beta, I am innocent of this one. (Except for the plot). I apologize if it isn't accurate, but I had no access to episodes of _Firefly_, so..._/helpless shrug/_. Also, this is **_LEMON_**, so any innocent _/yeah right/_ eyes beware. Still here? Hm... Brave souls. I wish you happy reading, then. Enjoy!

* * *

It was a Christmas night and the world was jolly and gay...

Except, it wasn't exactly so. There were some exceptions... like one miserable young man gulping down Firewhisky as it were water and not ridiculously strong alcoholic drink it was labeled to be.

And one particular young man was attempting to poison himself via the vile drink quite thoroughly.

Bleary green eyes stared at the half-empty glass dully, and the usually messy black hair was now looking like a crow's nest, what with its wildness and sagging spikiness... was spikiness even a word?

Anyway the youth was clothed in a haphazard mixture of clothes - old jeans trousers, too big green pullover and his feet were clad in a pair of sockets of different colors that had seen better times once upon a time, but now they were a sad example of worn-out, thoroughly used and abused representatives of their erstwhile line of clothes. Not that they were erstwhile to begin with, but...

The man hiccuped again. "It's ishn't fair..." He slurred to himself as he slumped over the old table, scowling thunderously. However, the scowl more likened to a petulant pout of a little boy who didn't get the newest toy he had eyed in a toy shop.

Only, in this case, the _'toy' _our quite drunk protagonist was pouting after, was a pretty young woman, named Hermione Granger.

Yup, Harry Potter was dead drunk over his unrequited crush on Miss Bookworm, and lamenting the fact that one redheaded menace managed to secure the lovely woman's affections for himself quite thoroughly.

"Damn you, Ron..." The man, now known as Harry groaned out, his blood shot eyes glaring blearily at the image of his best friend. It was so not fair - here he was, fresh from defeating the Dark Wizard menace that plagued him almost his entire life, and Hermione helped him, but when it came to ... affections, it took only some stammering, cow eyes and quite an ugly flush on Ron's part to get Hermione jumping straight to his arms, even if the berk had left both of them in the middle of nowhere for three months - three months of tension, terror and wondering whether or not they would be alive the next hour, day or even week. It was not fun to have an entire troupe of Death Sissies on their tails and having to destroy Horcruxes at the same time.

And Harry had gotten to know just what a precious jewel of a girl was Hermione.

She followed him, bonked some sense into his hard head on the occasion, kept both of them safe with the advanced spells she knew - if it weren't for her, Harry would have been deader than dead, what with Voldemort putting a Taboo on his name. And she smelled just so... so...

_Intoxicating. _

Harry seriously wanted to get her for himself, but the dratted hero business came first - he scowled unhappily at the remembrance - and then it was already too late. Ron had apologized to her and in that moment formerly composed young woman changed back into the squealing girl in love... sadly, the girl in question wasn't in love with him.

_'Sometimes, Ron just had to have all the luck on the world,'_ Harry mused sourly. He had family, he had fame, courtesy of Harry - his cowardly flight was apparently forgotten in the light of good will and blind love and some _'strategic maneuvering'_ or something like that, and he had what Harry wanted the most - Hermione.

"Mione..." Harry whined, thunking his head against the hard wood. "_Why?_ Why are you marrying the - the berk? Wasn't I good enough for you?"

He was just lucky he was alone in the room - he had repaired the Godric's Hollow and attempted to live here - attempted because he was still floundering what to do now, when he finished being a hero big time. Sure, Ginny was making cow eyes at him, but Harry wished it would be a certain bushy-haired someone making cow eyes at him, but as she wasn't, it wasn't a go.

The room was dimly lit, painted in warm hues of a sunset and furnished with dark wood. It was moderately warm, because even if he was drunk, Harry wasn't quite as stupid as to stay in a cold-as-a-fuck room just to satisfy his masochistic tendencies, thank you very much!

"Why... couldn't you have chosen me?" He whined again, his voice suspiciously close to bawling.

Honestly, honor was such an unnecessary thing at a times...

Green eyes behind the wire-rimmed glasses watered pathetically. "It's isn't fair, Mio..."

He had to be a shop-buddy for Ron for the engagement ring - of course, because he had known their Mio best, and becasuse Ron just had to schmooze off of his fame and get some additional rumors in process, Harry thought to himself spitefully. In fact, there were now some rumors, Harry had intended to marry the Weasel himself, what with Ron's loony and loopy behavior - honestly, Ron on pre-proposal jitters was spazzier than even Luna at her worst.

But oh _no,_ if that had not been enough already, he had to help the berk plan the proposal, be his partner when learning the whole speech, and of course, the rotten cherry on the top of the proverbial shit pile, witnessing the actual proposal.

Of course, Harry would have been vindictively satisfied if Ron had bungled it up as it was his habit, but to his unutterable dismay, Ron just had to do the one thing Harry secretly wished him to crash and burn at, perfectly.

Harry never regretted that he was so good of a teacher as he had right then.

He had managed to heroically pretend all was happy and dandy with him, not that the two lovebirds noticed, and everyone else was preoccupied with the said lovebirds. Of course Ginny had sent him some meaningful looks, but he would sooner shagged Malfoy than he would have proposed to the obsessive little fan-girl.

Using his mad ninja skills he returned back home, went straight to the library and grabbed the first stiff drink he had managed to get his hands on.

In this case, it was Firewhisky.

And so, he began lamenting his single status quite thoroughly.

His messy hair was now even messier, his clothes even in kore miserable state if it was possible and he curled himself in a half-ball in a very comfortable armchair. It was something of a quirk of his, curling up like this - Mione said he reminded her of some or other detective named L - but it was just... natural position for him. He so didn't copy it from that sugar-obsessed freak - if anyone was copying it, it was the other bastard - ahem, person.

Why, oh why couldn't he have a llittle bit of love luck for once in his miserable life?

Harry sniffled wetly.

* * *

The world was so not fair...

"If only there was a second Hermione..." Harry mumbled to himself drunkenly.

However, that one phrase seemed to lit the only clutch of useful synapses in his brain - the ones that weren't already soaked with Firewhisky, at any rate.

Harry's blessing - or maybe curse - was, that he was extremely intelligent... if he wanted to be. Most of people mistook it for a cunning, because the solutions he had come up were original, slightly underhanded and most importantly, they _worked._

Everyone overlooked the fact that for a good execution of the plan, you had to have knowledge, a ridiculous amount of exercise and an equally, if not more so, ridiculous amount of foolhardiness and luck. And it didn't help that Harry unknowingly cultivated the image of lone jock - good physical reflexes, but except in DADA, he wasn't particularly exceptional in educational measure.

Because of that, and the fact he had been Muggle-raised, Harry had been severely underestimated even by his chief ex-nemesis; Voldemort had tripped himself on that little fact more times he could count.

And now, Harry put his intelligence, foolhardiness and luck to the work.

* * *

Half an hour later, some indecipherable mumbling and a good amount of books looked up, turned over and thrown away, one Harry James Potter had an ideal solution to his little... problem.

Now, if only his headache wold leave him alone...

The night was silent, and except of the fire cracking in a fireplace, all was quiet.

Harry suppressed an amount of rising excitement in his chest. Just a little more time, and he would have his Hermione with him... again.

Green chalk... _check._ Silver knife... _check._

Now all it remained was to write the appropriate runes on the floor and get the ritual going.

Feverish green eyes looked over the diagram - two overlapping squares, with their corners poking out from their ninety degree turn. He swallowed a dry gulp. He needed only the inscription of appropriate runes and invocation, along with something of Hermione's and then...

Then –

Hissing with pain he cut his hand and let the blood be absorbed into the green chalk.

Once again, he looked at the runes, blinking stupidly as the ancient writings swam in front of his pained eyes - he really should have gotten a good night's rest instead of this, but he was lonely, dang it!

Carefully, he knelt in the middle of the overlapping squares.

He gripped the smooth piece of chalk tightly, as if it were slippery as eel, despite of the proof of being contrary.

_'Now or never.'_

First rune at North...

_Thurisaz_

The sharp lines made him wince - he never took Runes while in Hogwarts, and he was now really regretting it., as he clumsily finished the first sign.

_"Pectus pectoris ut pectus pectoris.."_ He murmured, channeling his magic into the rune, making the previously chalky sign glow.

Next sign. South.

_Raido. _

_"Ego dico vos."_

The stylized R sign also glowed.

So far, so good.

If only his head weren't feeling so wooly…

East side.

_Wunjo. _

_"Pectus pectoris ut pectus pectoris – "_ he murmured, his voice still trembling as he turned to the next corner.

West_. Sowilo. _

_"-ego queso vos." _

The next stylized sign also glowed with almost unearthly green color, making the previously warmly colored room appear a little paler.

Southeast now.

_Ehwaz. _

_"Successio - Hermione Granger – "_ he choked out at the name of his beloved, but he forced himself to continue.

Northeast –

_Laguz _

_" – Quisnam has meus pectus pectoris"_

The unearthly glow in the room strengthened.

Southwest corner…

_Ingwaz…_

_"Vox ut existio…"_

Final corner, northwest side –

_Dagaz._

_"Audite meus placitum."_

Harry barely managed to get the words out as the pressure in his head and heart mounted, but he still pressed on.

She would be with him after all of this would be finished…

_It was worth it._

He snapped his phoenix –cored wand in a tight circle and then a quick jab.

_"Tribuo suus volo!"_

The eight signs glowed even stronger, somehow detaching themselves from the floor like some kind of strange live fireflies and began to move around the grimacing wizard in some kind of lazy circle, which was slowly, but surely picking the speed, until Harry couldn't differ one sign from another, all of them blending together into a blinding aquamarine stripe that made the nerves in his eyes almost scream with intensity.

And then, he fainted.

* * *

_"Urgh."_

One Harry James Potter was at the moment one very unhappy camper.

His mouth tasted like battery acid – Firewhisky definitely didn't do a person a favor in the department of sweet breath, his tongue was numb, his head was pounding and did anyone get the number of the Thestral that had just ran him over?

But then, he remembered.

_Hermione!_

He jack-knifed up, only to be met with a barrel of some ancient gun and a pair of very unhappy, very familiar eyes.

"Are you the idiot that somehow managed to get me out of my wedding?" The smooth male voice asked him, with a dangerous growl mixed in.

Harry blinked owlishly at the strangler that was standing in front of him.

He was clothed in rust-colored shirt that was loosely opened until the middle of the chest, sandy brown pants with a pipe lining at the outer sides and a pair of low-cut shoes.

The strange thing was the man wore brown leather suspenders cum weapon holsters, and low on his hips, there was also a dark brown leather pistol belt.

The man was fairly slim, but yet solid enough to give off an impression of a particularly stubborn rock.

(Don't ask Harry about stubborn rocks. Really, _don't._)

After a few moments of dumbfounded perusal Harry spoke out.

"You're not Hermione."

* * *

Those familiarly shaped eyes narrowed. "Do I _look _like a girl?" The man practically snarled at him as his eyebrow twitched with annoyance.

"You should." Harry replied mournfully. "I said I wanted a girl."

"And I wanted for the Alliance to kick the bucket, but it's not gonna happen anytime soon. So suck it up and answer my question." The man snapped back. "Who are you and how did you get me to - wherever we are?"

Harry sighed. "I am Harry. And you are currently in my home." He snapped back as he wearily squeezed his eyes close. It was just too early for this shit.

"And your home is where?" The man insisted.

He really had pretty cornflower blue eyes, Harry noticed absentmindedly. Not like Hermione's, but similar enough - at least in shape, if not in color. His face was stern and not chiseled enough to be termed classically beautiful, but it still had something that attracted Harry to the man like a bee to the honey.

And the man's short brown hair was so silky-looking –

Harry jerked.

"Fuck." He cursed. Warily, he opened his eyes. Nope, not hallucinating. No beautiful chick here.

Just a very male Hermione without her bushy hair and brown eyes.

_'What the fuck went wrong?'_

He tried to stand up, but the gun's muzzle kissed the hollow of his throat warningly.

"Want to have another breathing hole, I can accommodate you." The man warned him, his voice exotically sounding with the strange accent. "Now, where are we?

Harry blinked.

"England, Godric's Hollow." He answered automatically, his brain already trying to whirl through the possibilities of just what went wrong. "Will you let me up now?"

He winced at how whiny his voice was sounding. But really, having an hangover from hell really didn't help his disposition, and doing the strange ritual just to alleviate his loneliness –

Hermione would have had his hide if she had known just how stupid, irresponsible and foolhardy he was being right now.

The man stared at him, his eyes wide and, Harry noticed again, really really pretty blue.

* * *

In his long life, Malcolm 'Mal' Reynolds had been through many dangerous, baffling or outright weird situations, but this one took the cake.

He was about to be married to some chick back on some backwater planet, but in the middle of the ceremony, some bastard had squeezed him through the straw, seemingly got his organs through the grinder and finally spat him out in what seemed to be a fairly well-off house on top of the drunk-as-a-skunk guy.

Well, at least the guy was fairly harmless and very helpless.

He reminded Mal of a scruffy, abandoned kitten what with his helpless pose and scrawny shape under all the all-too-big clothes. He winced at the thought what would River and Zoe have done to the poor kid if they ever saw him.

Massive squealing and something terrible named 'sisterly hugs' came to mind.

Of course, the females weren't very inclined to squeal at everything cute, but Mal just… knew. Let the females stare at something poor, cute and abandoned for a longer period of time and you get yourself a new pair of hungry mouth to feed, while the girls would torture their newest project with… whatever they tortured their chosen subject with.

And then, those eyes fluttered open, and Mal was taken aback by those unnaturally green eyes.

There weren't many things that were colored like summer leaves or emeralds, but it appeared the kid's orbs were just it. On the black market, Mal mused, the kid would reach a high price, if only for his uniquely colored eyes.

And much to his hidden surprise, the kid wasn't afraid of him… or his gun. He even had the gals to complain Mal wasn't a girl! What the heck? Did the brat somehow know about that miserable bonnet episode?

He'd better not.

But in… _England?_

Mal wasn't sure whether he was yanked by his proverbial chain or he had, by some kind of a weird happenstance, really landed back in time.

And if he had landed back in time…just what kind of technology could manage to do that?

Slowly, he removed the nozzle of the gun off of that fragile collarbone.

"Try anything …" He muttered half-heartedly, making the boy in front of him roll his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah." The boy - he really had to find out his name - interrupted him with a long-suffering sigh. A moment later, the boy grimaced.

"Fuck. I swear, doing the ritual full on Firewhisky is one of the dumbest ideas ever. " The youth hissed through his teeth as he cautiously straightened out.

Fragile shoulders slumping, his… host - much to Mal's incredulous amusement - pouted.

"So… A ritual?" Mal prodded, receiving a glare for his efforts.

"Yeah. How I got you of all people, it's beyond me at the time," the youth grouched back, making Mal half-offended.

He wasn't such a bad catch, was he?

Wait - why was he even thinking about himself as being a good catch, anyway? He should have been concerned about returning back home, and not about hare-brained schemes of some angsty teenager!

"So… can you get me back to… whenever you managed to get me from?" Mal asked, half-amused and half-irritated.

He was rewarded with a blood-shot green-eyed glare.

"Gimme some time, will ya?" The crazy berk snapped back. "I could attempt to get you back… if you want to crash-land to wherever you came, in prafactors."

Mal's eyes widened with horror at the threat. He liked to be in one piece, damn it!

"So, what now?" he asked rather helplessly.

The teenager sheepishly ruffled his hair. "Well, you could tell me your name for beginning… and then let's go find something to eat." He looked faintly green still. "After I get some of that hangover potion."

Mal blinked. "Good idea. I was starving anyway. I am Mal Reynolds."

Those green eyes lightened a bit. "And I am Harry Potter. So, shall we?"

Mal nodded mockingly.

"After you."

Harry tilted his head as he slowly stood up.

"If I hadn't know better, I would say you just want to ogle my ass."

Mal shrugged. "And if I did?" He asked, feeling daring and just a little bit insane.

Those green eyes scrutinized him for a moment, making Mal's skin prickle with mild discomfort. Really, those eyes were like a pair of green lasers… only less harmful.

Then, those pink lips curled up in an amused smirk.

"Down, boy."

Mal gawped for a moment, before hurrying after his unintentional host.

* * *

Later on, Mal was watching the snow falling on the ground, while Harry was pouring over the texts he had used for the ritual.

The silence was comfortable one, interrupted only by the faint crackling of the fire in the fireplace and the books being checked through and the list's whispering.

Finally, Mal became tired of just gawking at the fluffy snowflakes and turned back to Harry.

"May I help?" he asked lowly, making the green-eyed youth startle a bit.

"Merlin! Warn me a bit before you scare me half to death, will ya?" Harry huffed back as he recognized his voice.

Mel just smirked. Harry had been just so amusing when startled Mal didn't think he would have ceased teasing the slender wizard. Yes, Harry told him the general ins and outs of the Wizarding World, and Mal told him a little about Serenity and the world he was living in.

Harry scrunched his nose thoughtfully. " I don't know…. But if you know Latin…?"

Mal blinked. "I am passable, if you mean that." He replied, watching Harry slump further in the chair.

"Right. Then you wouldn't be of much help…" Harry muttered dejectedly, making Mal bristle.

Glaring at the wizard, Mal snatched the book he was perusing, disregarding Harry's taken-aback yelp at his action.

"You said there was some kind of an incantation, - " he probed making the young wizard wince.

"Yeah. Page 96." Harry mumbled sulkily. "Have fucking fun with it." He snapped, making Mal scoff at his immature behavior.

It was a little harder to read, what with the practically ancient English language, but Mal managed. His brows, however, furrowed when he came to the Incantation.

_'Pectus pectoris ut pectus pectoris...EGO dico vos , Pectus pectoris ut pectus pectoris , EGO queso vos. Successio….., quisnam has meus pectus pectoris. Vox ut exsisto , audite meus placitum. Tribuo suus volo.'_

Luckily for Mal, his knowledge of Latin was more than passable enough to solve the incantation.

_'Heart to heart...I call you, Heart to heart, I beseech you. Descendant of …., who has my heart. Powers that be, hear my plea. Give her to me.'_

"Harry. How did you translate the… Hermione Granger person thing?" he asked thoughtfully.

Harry blinked.

"Uh…I don't know. I used '_Succesio',_ I think.

Mal stared at him. "'_Succesio' _as in…?" He prodded further, getting a really sick feeling in his stomach.

Harry blinked. "Alternate one… you know, _'the other one'_."

Mal growled. "And here you go. If ya wanted your girl so much, you should have used _'alterna' _instead of _'succesio'. 'Succesio'_ means a successor, a _descendant_, you idiot!"

Harry's jaw dropped.

"Does that count as a case of really weird kind of pedophilia?" He asked back weakly.

Mal glared back at him. "You tell me," he huffed, irritated.

Harry shook his head. " So you're Hermione's descendant…. Weird. "He laughed weakly.

Mal closed the book with a mite harsher force he should have used.

"It could've gone better if you were a girl." Harry continued, not heeding Mal's thunderous mood.

"It could've gone even better if you just laid off of Firewhisky and stopped whining about your unrequited crush!" Mal snapped back as he slammed the book back on the table with a sharp '_thwack_' sound.

Harry growled. That Mal bastard was just unbelievable!

They - Mal, really - finally discovered just where he had managed to mess up the ritual, and then when Harry mentioned his little… wish, Mel turned into some kind of an asshole.

"You are an inconsiderate idiot." Harry snapped back.

"And you are whiny failure who fucked up the _gorramit _ritual so that I can't go home now!" Mal growled back, stepping closer.

Harry jumped off of the chair incensed. He felt his face burning and his fingers itched for a wand to curse the idiot something terrible.

"Well, sucks to be you, 'cause I am the only chance you get to make your merry way to whichever hole I managed to yank you out!" He snapped back. "And I pity the girl who wants to marry your ice-cubed ass!"

"And I am thanking whoever that's above that the Granger girl chose the other kid, because you'd drive her spare just an hour after wedding!" Mal retorted childishly, making Harry snarl wordlessly as he lunged against him to choke the life out of him.

Harry had seen red at Mal's latest remark. He would have replied with some kind of a witty retort, but he was so pissed off he thought only of how to deal the bastard some physical damage… the old way.

_Smack._

Harry's right fist connected with Mal's left half of jaw, momentarily making him stumble back in shock.

Those pretty cornflower blue eyes widened with surprise, and then darkened with fury. And then, Mal reacted.

Harry had to thank his faster reflexes for avoiding most of Mal's attempts to punch him, but at the same time, it irked him that his punches , with the exception of the first one, didn't have any effect on the space cowboy that was currently pursuing him.

Then, Mal faked the left, and when Harry got into the avoiding maneuver, Mal quickly tripped him, making him crash on the floor and causing him to see the stars. Mal quickly followed him, situating himself between the youth's legs and securing both of Harry's hands by his wrists beside Harry's head. Both of them panted harshly with exertion, as neither of them was entirely recovered from the ritual yet.

"You fucking bastard…" Harry hissed at Mal's smirking face, incensed. He tried to buck the man off, but he succeeded only in making the friction between both of their crotches.

"And you are a desperate-for-sex brat." Mal retorted back with gritted teeth.

Harry scowled. "Take that back!" He yelled, his eyes blazing with fury.

Mal tilted his head slightly. "Which one? That you are desperate for sex, or that you are a brat? Both of them hold true, you know."

"_Both _of them!" Harry barked back, still struggling. "Now let me go so I can kick your ass properly!"

"You couldn't even if I had both my hands and feet tied," Mal snapped back, as he stared at the furious, deliciously blushing face of his unexpected host.

"Care to _test_ that little theory of yours?" The wizard hissed back as he tried to yank his right hand out of the steel grip around his wrist.

"That would take a special brand of stupid." Mal scoffed as his eyes glued themselves to the pink lips of his captive. "Which I am not."

"You could at least try to be one," Harry commented sourly, which elicited a bark of amusement from Mal's throat.

"Nope, no can do. Besides… I still owe you for that lucky shot of yours." Mal smirked at Harry's suddenly dread-filled face.

"So just whack me one and we're even." Harry managed to speak up, even if those suddenly wicked eyes were beginning to make him a bit too uneasy for his own good.

"Yeah, but I'm the injured party here so I'll decide the… _punishment."_ His captive - now captor muttered lowly, making Harry feel like a tiny mouse in front of a very hungry falcon.

Mal's smirk didn't help the things. In fact, it made it worse!

Harry swallowed dryly. His eyes behind the glasses just about bugged out as he saw Mal's face nearing his. "Uh… May I remind you that you were just about to get married?" his voice became uncomfortably squeaky as he felt Mal's breath on his face.

"Thanks to you, the wedding is off. " Mal's smirk became a dangerous grin.

"Gee, you really have a way to make a guy feel honored," He mumbled back, unwittingly feeling his cheeks becoming warm with chagrined embarrassment.

"Why, thank you," Mal inclined his head mock-modestly, but the shit-eating grin on his face still remained making Harry want to run for the hills and never come back.

Both cornflower blue and emerald green eyes locked in a stare - the blue eyes heating with wicked intent, while the green ones were darkening with embarrassment.

"You know, you wined and dined me… all that is left is a wreath of flowers and a dance. " Mal's voice deepened, gaining a velvety quality that made Harry shiver for some reason.

"Well… Would a mistletoe above us count?" He asked innocently. "And for dancing, sorry, no can do. I have two left feet at it anyway."

That raspy chuckle made an appearance again. "Wonderful." Harry didn't even have a time to blink as he felt a pair of warm, chapped lips on his mouth.

Harry's jaw unintentionally slackened with surprise, giving Mal an ample time to sneak his tongue and salaciously sample the taste of his mouth.

"M-_mmph!_" Harry tried to talk, but Mal's assault was relentless.

As for Mal, the kiss that had been intended to be a punishment, turned out to be very…. interesting.

Not that he hadn't kissed a male in his younger and more foolish years, it was just, his taster were usually switching between asexual and female-sexual if given a chance. So this was just as big of a surprise as it had been for Harry. However, Mal being Mal quickly caught the proverbial tide and began to explore that deliciously succulent mouth while he still had surprise on his side.

He quickly found out Harry hadn't been kissed much in the past, given by how clumsily the kid followed his lead, but that could be remedied with some exercise and for some reason Mal didn't mind being a teacher cum guinea pig in that particular experiment.

Harry's mouth tasted of warmth, tea and apple pie with an underlying current of battery acid. It should have made Mal feel repulsed by the mixture - battery acid was a nasty business to taste, after all, but instead of that, he only felt his intrigue and excitement rising.

He regretfully tore himself away from the kiss, allowing both of them to breathe again.

Both of them panted harshly, with Harry staring at the man above him wide-eyed with shock and daze dancing in his verdant orbs.

Absentmindedly, he licked his lips, his heart thudding louder as he spied those cornflower blue eyes darkening even further and the pupils dilated with what he now knew was unmistakable lust.

"You don't want to do that…" Harry panted out, his breath husky with lack of air and a whole lot of arousal.

"How would you know that?" Mal questioned him as he let more of his weight press down on his prey.

"What would your bride say?" Harry retorted, a mild irritation in his voice.

The man's eyebrow quirked. "Doesn't matter. She would probably wanted to watch us, anyway." He grinned at Harry's scandalized gasp and not waiting for the next rebuff, swept down to claim those wonderfully ravished lips into another breath-taking kiss.

Harry couldn't help but shudder at the sensual attack even if it was all wrong.

He should've been kissing a female, this should have been Hermione and not her descendant, no matter how grown up he looked like - from Harry's point of view the man was barely a twinkle in his many times great-grandparent's eyes, if even that. And even if Mal was older than him, it didn't change the fact that Harry was technically committing a pedophilia and worse, enjoying it.

The warm weight on his body made him moan and he gasped as the other's hips gently ground into his, creating a delicious friction that warmed his loins with a treacherous fire.

"You - _ah!_ - like girls!" He accused on the verge of being breathless again.

"And you whine after that Granger girl." The man above him growled crankily. "So shut up and enjoy."

Harry scowled at the man, but a particularly hard shove made him close his eyes and groan.

"You somehow managed to take me from my time and caused me to miss my wedding night," Mal hissed into his ear threateningly. "Then you have the _gall_ to moan about me not being a girl and then, you punch me on the jaw."

"I already said I was sorry!" Harry snapped back, gasping as he felt a stinging bite on his neck.

"Sorry is not enough," Mal said wickedly. "And I really doubt that spanking would cause you to express some genuine regret, so we are going this way to correct your misbehavior."

Harry swallowed a ball of dread in his throat down.

"Still, it's not right." He tried once again to deter the man above him from his chosen course.

Mal stared at his chosen prey for a long minute. And then slow, sensual smirk appeared on his face as he spoke out the damning words.

"I aim to misbehave."

He stopped Harry's indignant yelp with a scorching kiss.

* * *

Later on, Harry couldn't remember for all he was worth just why he had protested against… that kind of a punishment. Mal was a warm furnace od sensuality, from the kisses to the nuzzles against his face and then light bites to his throat and then, it was too hit and his skin itched from having too many garments on, so it was totally natural progression to shed some.

Mal finally released Harry's wrists, in the favor of dragging his hands down the jumper and then wiggling his fingers under the hem, searching for that warm patch of vulnerable skin that would leave his prey gasping with shock and arching upward in search for more.

The first touch of that warm, rough-palmed hand on his skin was indeed a shock for the wizard. It was like he had been touched with a live wire, as the shock-wave of warmth traveled through his skin and nerves, making him arch in the greedy touch like a willing sacrifice.

"Mm - _Mal _– " he choked out, as he reached for those shirt-clad shoulders, grabbing them as if they were the only solid thing in his world as he was drowning in pleasure.

_"Harry,"_ Mal growled back as he exposed the stomach, his palm sliding up the soft skin and toward the chest, dragging the green jumper along and making Harry shiver at the unexpectedly sensual touch. Harry wiggled impatiently as the fingers caressed his collarbone and then, Mal lowered himself, nuzzling his face into Harry's stomach, eliciting both a startled gasp and a choked laughter for his efforts, which he quickly changed into a small yelp as he gently bit the skin below the small navel.

"You're fucking delicious…" he mumbled to the wizard as he breathed across the abused patch of pale skin, making his prey shiver and buck upward.

"And you are fucking overdressed," Harry growled back, making him huff with laughter.

Trembling fingers slid against the worn shirt, following the lines until Harry hit the still-unopened buttons. And then, inch by a slow inch, he began to open the buttons, making Mal groan in discontentment - the small touches to his skin were gentle and fleeting, like the feathers of some exotic bird and he wanted to get the damned thing off so badly he almost didn't care it was ripped.

The shirt was tugged out of the trousers sharply, making him grin with anticipation as he watched how those green eyes widened with awe and want.

He bent down for one more of those drugging kisses, making a lewd pass across those panting mouth before he dipped into it, enticing the tongue that laid here into a playful tag and chase which eventually led it into his own mouth and he shivered as their naked skin touched together - still partially clothed, his weapon harness and suspenders would have to go, but at least it was something –

Meanwhile, Harry was becoming used to the dance of tongues and even began eagerly participating in it, teasing the agile muscle and slipping against the other's teeth and hum, finding out the sensitive places that made him hum and growl.

His fingers then touched the leather suspenders, somehow managing to shrug them down the wide shoulders, the leather's unique scent wafting to his nose and making something in his belly curl with pleasure.

He unconsciously contracted his legs, lifting his knees off the floor and making himself all the more vulnerable while the head that was in his belly slowly centered in his groin, making him whine for something - anything - to alleviate it.

And then, there was a pause, while Mal lightly tugged him upward, his other hand sliding in, as he seamlessly got the offending piece of the cloth off of Harry's body, the gentle scratch of wool tickling his fingers for a moment.

A moment later, and Harry's chest was bare for his perusal, pale and slender and looking fragile, yet with that kind of soft, gentle light that beckoned Mal to touch, to taste and own for himself he had never felt before.

Harry then beckoned him, and Mal went willingly, shivering as he felt the fingers under the shirt, and then, the fabric slid down slowly, as if reluctant to leave the warm skin it clung to for so long of a time.

"You are a tease, you know that?" He murmured to his companion lowly, as he looked into those hazy green eyes.

"No more than you are," The black haired youth muttered back with a fetching blush on his cheeks.

They shared a small, breathless chuckle between them as they began to kiss anew, this time with Mal leading as he nibbled the slender throat he had marked before, and then, he nipped around, licked at the collarbone before kissing downward to the right nipple, enjoying the feel of those small hands sliding from his sides to the back and slowly petting him, with an occasional scratch biting into his skin.

The slender hands slid down his stomach as he was busy with worrying one of those tempting nipples between his teeth, and rested on his hips, clutching for a moment as Harry gasped when he bit a particularly sensitive place.

Those clever little fingers slid in the place between the pants and naked skin, making him shudder with arousal - his groin was feeling hot and heavy and tense, and he felt as if he could burst any minute now as the minx caressed his back , slowly coming to the front teasing him with the promise of pleasure.

Harry smiled as he heard the gasp, before Mal straightened out, his hair messier than ever, and staring at him with eyes that were so very hungry and making him lose his leverage at the process.

And then, Mal was on him again, like a ravenous beast, those warm hands tearing down his worn trousers as if they were nothing - with jerked out movements the brunet managed to get both the trousers and underwear in one fell sweep –

Harry reached to stop him too late, and he found himself naked as he was on the day he had been born in front of this stranger, making him feel uncharacteristically shy again.

"No need to be shy now, kitten," Mal smirked as his embarrassed prey wolfishly. "You don't have anything I ain't seen yet."

Harry spluttered at the matter-of-fact words. "You bastard – " he tried to cover his groin, embarrassed at the rise of his member now as he was wholly naked - the clothes offered some measure of protection, but being so wholly naked, he felt more vulnerable than ever and left him really wishing for punching the man's nose for his impudence. However, his hands had done him more discomfort than alleviating him of, as his hips involuntarily jerked up in his hands, making him blush like an overripe cherry. Hearing Mal chuckle, he tried to slink away, but strong hands on his hips prevented any measure of the flight.

"You're embarrassed. How cute." Mal drawled out as he watched at his prey, all gangly and awkward and really not knowing what to do with itself.

"And you're being a jerk," Harry snapped back, green eyes glaring at him with defiance and unholy level of embarrassment.

"Next thing you will tell me you are really a virgin – " Mal teased him, but looking at the youth's mortified face made his jaw drop.

"_Holy shit._ You really are, aren't you?" he asked, half incredulous, and half disbelieving.

This was the last straw for the already mortified wizard.

Disregarding his modesty for a moment, he surged forward, pushing the taken - aback Mal on his ass and spicing the entire thing with a kick in the man's stomach for a good measure.

"Yeah, so what?" He snapped out, as he stood up, scowling fiercely, making a move to get away, but the hand on his left angle stopped him.

"Wait! I am sorry, okay?" Mal asked him, his cornflower blue eyes wide , hair mussed and with his cheeks flushed with mortification he looked like a little boy that was caught with his hand in a jar full of cookies. "I didn't meant to …." He coughed as he lowered his eyes. " Make fun of you. It's just, in my world it's very rare to stay a virgin and with you looking like that, you could've had any number of partners before me. "

Harry scoffed. "Well, you had your share of sick fun. Happy now?" Those green eyes glared at him, making Mal wince at the amount of hurt and shame reflected in them.

"No." He replied back before he could think. "I am not happy." He elaborated as Harry began to tug his leg out of the hold Mal was having it in.

Instead of standing up, he closed in and embraced the teen's upper tights. "I admit, I began this as a kind of a punishment, but I would never be as sick as to make fun of you to be a virgin." He said gruffly, not daring to look into those accusing eyes. "Give me a chance. Please."

It was the plea that did Harry's resolve to kick the bastard into his nuts in.

Sighing, he crouched down, still uncomfortably aware of his nakedness and closeness to the chief bastard that called himself Mal Reynolds.

"Fine."

Mal's head shot up at this single word.

"But if you_ ever_ make a fun of me, I reserve the right to kick you in the nuts." Harry mumbled out, ducking his head in embarrassment at the relief on Mal's face.

"And I will let you do it," Mal agreed, smiling faintly. "Now where were we?"

Harry smirked. "Someone's pants gotta go." He licked his lips, and Mal chuckled, reaching with his hand to close at lower part of Harry's skull, as if he were cradling a newborn, and tugged him in a gentle kiss.

"That they do. Care to do the honors?" He muttered to the teen hoarsely, prompting Harry to flush again as he led Harry's hand to the belt of his trousers.

Hesitantly, Harry touched the belt and undid it slowly, acutely feeling every crease and smoothed out nuance in the thick dark strip of leather. Then, he popped out the first button… and then another… and another, his cheeks flushing at the intimate heat of the other's groin pressing against his hand.

As Mal didn't have his weapon belt on, it was now only a matter of time on how to get the pants off - and despite the material looking unwieldy, the fabric slid off with little to no resistance, and Harry gasped as he finally saw him guest fully naked.

Mal was a paragon of a masculine force - nothing like Harry's own slender frame - he was all planes and angles and muscled, while Harry's Seeker built made him curiously androgynous in some aspects.

"You're freeballing around?" Harry asked incredulously, making Mal chuckle at the disbelief in his voice.

"Just for this occasion, yes I do." Mal muttered back, smiling slightly at Harry's mortified face at his question.

"Right." Harry agreed quickly. "Forgot you had some kind of a wedding to attend to."

Mal blinked. Had it really passed only four hours since he had been abducted from his own wedding? For him, it seemed like an eternity away.

"Never mind the wedding," he growled back at his soon-to-be partner. "We gotta do something far more interesting than yapping about dresses and whatnot."

With that said, he tugged Harry into a fierce kiss, making the teen moan breathlessly against his lips.

"You are the friggin' most confusing creature I've ever known," Mal panted against Harry's lips as they came back for air. "You confuse me with your strange habits. You piss me off easier than Operative, and you make me laugh." He nuzzled the bite on Harry's neck, prompting a gasp. "You're one bitchy little kitten with sharp claws and I dread to find out just what you could do with River and Zoe in a tow. " He pinched one of the tempting nipples, making Harry emit a startled moan.

"You are a virgin yet you get me going faster than _Serenity _on the flight from a band of Alliance thugs. Heck, you've made me apologize. _Me._ " He carefully bit the already abused lip of his playmate.

"I – " Harry started to respond, but it ended in a hiss as his neck was once more taken hostage by those teeth that nipped harshly at the tender skin. Somehow, he managed to embrace Mal, also nuzzling into the side of his neck, and then, he felt warm, rough-palmed hands on his ass, making him fall forward against Mal's chest with a yelp of surprise.

Mal, on the other hand, grinned like a kid who got his favorite sweet. "Ready for the main event?" He asked, as his fingers crept to the tempting crack between the two globes.

Wide-eyes, Harry tried to back out from the sensual touch. "Mal! _That's dirty!_ I am dirty here!"

Mal huffed with amusement. "Doesn't matter. Do your hocus-pocus and get me something slick to work with." He commanded, looking at those huge green orbs behind the dorky glasses.

Sighing with defeat, Harry nodded and wordlessly recalled his wand. A small charm later, he was left squeaky clean and weirdly uncomfortable what with the slickness of his passage. He never thought that the charms could be used like… that, put apparently they could be - he flushed at the thought what Hermione would've said if he ever told her about his indiscretion while applying sun tan lotion spell to… where the sun doesn't shine.

"R-Ready." His voice stuttered a little, but the sight on Mal's face made him all the more excited and nervous at the same time.

Mal sat down on his knees, groaning a little at the pressure - he wasn't as young as he had once been, and the latest heist left some limitations on his body. "C'mere," He motioned to the hesitant wizard, with a small smirk on his face. "Straddle me."

Slowly, Harry awkwardly shuffled near to him, and with a little help from Mal, he soon straddled the man, feeling a little foolish and awkwardly aroused at the touch of their members.

"Lean forward a little." Mal's voice at this point could be called a seductive purr that made Harry shudder a little at the unvoiced promises within.

Carefully, he leaned forward, shivering as those hands caressed his ass gently, before the fingers were treading the crack again, and again, making him move restlessly against the man. He jerked as the pleasure from involuntarily touching the man's member with his own zinged up his spine, making the fingers of Mal's right hand cleverly sliding deeper into the crevice, making him shiver with the new, unfamiliar feelings.

He pressed his hips forward again, and was rewarded by the same zing of pleasure and when he unconsciously moved back, the fingers slid into the slick opening slowly, making him clench down a little.

"_Fuck,_ you re tight," Mal said hoarsely, watching the sight of Harry pleasuring himself with his body intently, wanting to burn the image in his mind for later.

Forward and back. Forward and back. Their movements became repetitive, and Mal felt their skin heating up and beading with sweat. Finally, it was enough.

"Harry, lift yourself up a bit." He ordered gruffly, making the youth hesitantly comply with his words. He grabbed one of Harry's hips, and with his other hand, he supported him member, positioning it at the loosened opening that promised such an amount of pleasure.

He shivered at the feeling, the outer muscles of Harry's opening already twitching at the contact with his member and he could only imagine the furnace within. His jaw twitched a little at the sensations before he could rein himself in.

"Now?" Harry asked, sounding a little lost as he panted slightly. His skin was flushed, Mal noticed, black hair matted with sweat and wilder than ever and the eyes behind those fogged glasses were wide and vulnerable. In that moment, Mal could never, ever let go of this little gift he had found so very unexpectedly.

"Now, sit down." He rasped out, almost at the end of his wits with the sensual torture he was holding himself under.

He watched, as Harry gingerly complied, those green eyes widening as he hasped at the new feeling and Mal couldn't help himself but groan when he felt the canal gripping him like a wet, live glove, yet incomparably tighter and hotter and overall…_perfect_.

Uncomfortably, Harry shifted a little - Mall was thicker and longer than his fingers and Harry seriously doubted that was it, even if Mal's face expressed sheer ecstasy at the action.

"Mal - I don't feel so good." He confessed, his voice hitching and trembling as he tried to adjust.

"Give it – damn, give it time," Mal huffed back, as he gripped Harry's naked hips in a bruising grip. "Move when you are ready. "

Harry blinked. "I have to move _again?_" He balked, scowling. Going down the first time was hard enough, thank you very much!

His lips were seized in a small, reassuring kiss.

"Yeah. Trust me."

And damn it, Harry was helpless against that cajoling, purred out voice.

Inhaling deeply he nodded and slowly began to move upwards, grimacing a little at the friction.

And down. Then once again, up, down, up, down, and then, Mal did _something_ with his hips, and Harry couldn't help but buck involuntarily, yelping with surprise at the pleasure that flashed through his nerves.

It was enough, yet it was too little. It made Harry hungry for more and quite willing to move again.

"Found it, eh?" Mal's triumphant grin earned him a half-hearted scowl, but Harry couldn't find it within him to be angry right now.

Not when he had a pleasure to chase after.

"Dick," He insulted the grinning space cowboy breathlessly as he strained his legs, trying to get to that new high again.

"Why, thank you," Mal choked out a short laugh, but then Harry silenced him with a kiss.

They soon found the rhythm, sliding against each other as a well-oiled machine, driving each other higher with little kisses, nips and pleasure-driven rush that was bordering to insanity.

They simultaneously speed up, huffing, grunting and emitting little cries, before the coil within their bellies tightened too much and finally shattered in a supernova of white- hot pleasure that made Harry scream out, while Mal managed to get out a strangled growl.

They held the pose for another moment, before they slumped into a boneless heap of trembling muscles and sweaty skin, painting for oxygen with greedy breaths.

"So, how'd you like our little dance?" Mal asked the slender wizard in his lap after a little while.

Harry grinned wildly, green eyes shining behind the fogged up spectacles. "I could definitely got used to _that _kind of dancing." He wheezed out, still feeling on a cloud nine.

Mal smirked smugly at the disheveled teen on his lap, not even minding the streaks of come between them. "Still, I am sorry for your wedding." Harry continued, downtrodden a little. "I know I am a poor substitute and I am sorry for summoning you – "

He was interrupted by Mal's hearty chuckle. "Don't be. It was the most fun I've had in a while. And… you remember what I said about you wining and dining me, along with gifting me flowers?"

Harry nodded cautiously, as something nagged in the back of his mind. "Yeah. So what?"

Mal's smile morphed into a grin of shit-eating proportions. "Well… How to say it… We just became married."

Verdant eyes behind those dorky glasses widened to epic proportions.

"We _WHAT!?"_

Mal just chuckled at his new husband's - he could get used to the term - incredulous squawk as he pressed a tiny kiss on his new spouse's nose.

"Merry Christmas, darling. "

And if Harry attempted to choke a living shit out of him again, Mal just cheerfully diverted the attacks in the favor of snogging the wizard senseless.

Even if snogging didn't really save him from somehow acquiring a set of wolf's ears and a tail next morning.

Well, at least their life together would be interesting.

**_/The End/_**


	40. A Mon Seul Desir

_A MON SEUL DESIR (TO MY SOLE DESIRE)_

* * *

**_Disclaimer:_** I don't own _Harry Potter_ or Fate_/Zero_. The characters belong to their respective owners, I just _/ahem/,_ borrowed them for a while because my plotdragons said so.

**_Summary: _**Lily researched summoning rituals. However, her attempt at summoning a protector failed. Twelve years later, Harry is dying in the Chamber of Secrets…

**_Shout Out:_** As it is, I have way too many ideas and because I've became interested in _Unlimited Blade Works,_ it logically led me to discover _Fate/Stay Night_ and _Fate/Zero_. And because Chamber of Secrets scene is just a plot device that is seriously underrated, along with that cute lil' picture I've found out on the 'net, and you got something evil, twisted and out of whack. Sorry for torturing Harry, but Chamber - Voldie really doesn't know just what kind of fire he began to play with when he toyed with the last Potter. Once again, thank you, **_MHB_**, for getting the script straightened out. You rock! Both **_ Crimson Sagittarius_** and **_Fire And Ice_** are now in works, but **_Among The Hawks And Doves_** will come out a little later.

**_Warnings:_** **_AU-verse_**, as always. Not following the script, **_descriptions of the torture_** and faint inclinations of **_Harry/Berserker_** (innocent little whistle). What? Blame the 'dragons for this one. If you are still here, then I wish you happy reading _/small smirk/._

**_Dictionary:_** Right, played with Latin again_. /sticks tongue out/._ Luckily for you, the list is short this time.

**_Carnivere Penitus_** – Inner carnivore. In an essence, the curse creates flesh-eating bugs in the victim's body. It's a bad kind of symbiosis - they eat the victim's inner organs and in exchange, they sustain the victim. Very old curse, and not curable. Also, modern magical scans don't detect anything wrong. Muggle ones, contrarily do.

**_Trilobites_** – The bugs in question - are a well-known fossil group of extinct marine arthropods that form the class **_Trilobita_**_. _Yes, they did exist. But in this story, I made them live again (_yay_), and carnivorous, just because of that pretty little picture. _/sardonic snort/. _The bugs are formed in the victim's stomach and later on, they slowly expand their living areas to the chest. The victim is their mode of transportation… somewhat. Victims can also partially control the bugs, because they were made from the victim's magic. So they can control them, if… and only_ if_ they have a mental fortitude to do so. It's still a torturous co-existence, because the bugs could be likened to a magical version of cancer, only in animal-ish shape. _/Sweatdrops/_

**_Pullus Umbra_** - _Black/Sad Shadow_. Luna's name for the Berserker. She can see the supernatural, so it isn't a stretch she could see the fallen Heroic Spirit.

* * *

He was… _dying_. This was an undisputed fact. His eyesight blurred, while his body felt both frozen and like he had acid travelling through his veins.

"And so ends the life of Harry Potter." The ghost's soft voice echoed in the dark, wide cavern, making it even more creepy than usual as it faintly reverberated off the stone walls.

Harry blinked blearily. He would have loved to sleep right now… yes, sleep was a wonderful idea. Sluggishly, he looked at the pale body of the girl at the ghost's feet.

"Sorry Gin. Seems I'm not a good hero." He muttered, and somehow, that thought amused him, before his weakened body was wracked with pain again, making him curl against the open snout of the snake he had killed a few moments prior.

"For all it's worth, you put up a good fight." Voldemort's magnanimous voice echoed through the chamber mockingly, and oh, how Harry wished he could have glared at the berk…

He was cold. The ground under him was cold and wet and he was shaking uncontrollably from both the wet clothes and cold air drafting through the elaborate cavern. What he wouldn't have given to be warm right now…he winced as a new lance of pain speared through his nerves, making him simultaneously more numb and more sensitive to the pain.

And then, there was a melodious warble and flash of _orangeyellowredgold _and there was a weight on his body.

"F'w'ks?" Harry questioned through clenched teeth. "G'way. Dan'grous." He ground out, his words slurred, but the damned bird pecked him on the head and then…

Was Fawkes crying?

_'Well, at least someone was crying,'_ Harry dully thought to himself. The Dursleys surely wouldn't when they got a notice about his death.

His hand was bleeding and he was feeling lightheaded, like he had been drugged with a narcotic - once, his arm was broken and they had to reset it, and for that, the surgeons 'got under' then five year old Harry via narcotic.

"And I have to gift you for you for your performance - _Carnivere Penitus_!" The young shade commanded, as he flicked his/Ginny's wand in a complicated pattern, ending it in a short whipping motion, sending a sickly lavender colored curse towards the confused young boy.

The effects were immediate.

Dull green eyes snapped wide –

**_"GRAAAHHH!" _**The yell was interspersed with a shrieking trill from the golden bird that fluttered up as the youth buckled wildly his hands scrabbling to the stomach.

There - _here! _Something was gnawing, nibbling, _chomping _through - !

He howled as there was another and another and anotheranotheranother scrabbling shredding distending and finally –

His mouth opened in a wordless cry as the pain reached its apex and suddenly, his stomach distended in weird shapes, as if something was trying to get out and there was that muted chittering sound –

_Gii Gii Giigiii giii - _

And then, his stomach exploded in a mixture of warmth and liquid - wasn't that a little bit too familiar - he thought to himself dizzily as he curled into himself, only to be forced to uncurl as something crawled out of his stomach, the parts of his intestines falling out only to be covered by some kind of a trilobites, with their small, skittering legs and razor sharp mouths, covered with blood and gunk and -

_GiiGii giiigiiigigigigiiii -_ The little monsters chittered as they gathered around the scattered little bits of his stomach – Harry almost choked on his blood that rose though his stomach and bubbled on his tongue the distinct iron taste so familiar to him that it was almost comfort, a home –

One of his hands accidentally touched the slimy thing, still slick with his blood and yet curiously cool on the touch, the chitin curved in some parody of the perfect armor as the thing wiggled under his palm, strong and alive and he choked another scream as he felt another round of gnawing –

"Oh, wow." Harry rolled away from the voice that was so terribly fascinated with his suffering.

"Wh't you do ta me?" His speech was slurred from the agony he had been put through and he practically slammed himself against the wall in an effort to dislodge the little blighters.

_Giigigigigi giii._

Oh, hell _no._

He tried to back away, but how the fuck should he do that, backing away from something that was coming directly from his stomach!?

"You know, I've always wanted to try that particular curse, but I couldn't find a suitable…_Test subject._" Riddle's voice was nonchalant as if he were discussing the weather. "See, the curse is magical by nature, and of course, it would cause too much hassle if I tried it outside. After all, if any student… _vanished,_ there would be questions, and as good of a wizard as I am, even I couldn't afford for this… particular experiment to be traced back to me."

Harry's vision was red with fury. "D'mn yoo." He gurgled out, his green eyes glaring weakly at the chuckling shade. Standing just a few steps away from him. So close and yet so far…. "R't in H'll."

"Ah, ah, ah," Riddle playfully wiggled his fingers. "You snooze, you lose, so be a good little loser and die a nice, slow death." His chuckles rose up in volume into amused, sadistic laughter that echoed through the chamber, making the sound all the more terrible.

Meanwhile, Harry scrabbled for everything - anything that could help him to at least get back to the bastard.

His trembling hand wiped out his mouth, and belatedly, he felt the blood trickling between his fingers down to the wrist and wetting the cord.

_'No. I refuse. I won't be a good little dog! Even if I die here - at least I could take him with me. '_

His thoughts flashed briefly to Hermione, to Ron to the Weasleys and he still owed the damned elf 'thanks' for the troubles it had gotten him into –

"So why are you not dying already?" Riddle asked after he had his laughing fit.

Harry's lips curved into a weak little smirk.

_''Cause I am just that stubborn, bonehead.' _

And then, he closed his eyes for a moment, and there it was, an intricate thing –

Shocked, he opened his eyes, but he still saw the outline of the circle…. Correction, circles within the circles, all of them moving, like some kind of a complicated mechanism.

And then, there was something that had been building in the back of his head, even before all that deal with Fawkes, something dark and sinister and like a siren's song, he was helpless to defy it.

His mouth opened and the words he had never seen, never heard never read came tumbling out, new and yet so familiar…

_"I hereby… propose." _The first sentence was more gurgled out than spoken, his throat hurting, but he persisted.

"What are you doing? Reciting poetry won't help you any, you know." Riddle asked.

The strange trilobites chittered, as if agreeing with him.

Harry ignored them, focusing instead on the circle that was steadily becoming more complicated in his mind's eye.

_"My will shall …create thy body…And thy sword… shall create my fate. " _He almost choked on the blood, having to spit it out before he could continue.

"Well, by all means." Riddle sighed, as if he were doing Harry a huge favor. "At least it will be entertaining." He smirked cruelly as Harry winced from the bite of another… bug.

_"Abiding… by the summons of the Holy Grail, I hereby swear… I will be …all that is good in the eternal world. I will be the disposer …of evil in the eternal world._ " His voice came out a little stronger, the strange kaleidoscope of deep violet on the black background dancing it's dizzying dance in his mind's eye.

_Almost._ Not quite. _Not yet._

As he opened the mouth to finish the chant, there was a flash, and an unbearable heat emanating from his wrist -

"**_But let chaos cloud thine eyes. Thou, who art trapped in a cage of madness –" _ **The female voice interrupted him, making Harry scowl and his non-existent stomach drop with dread –

A slender silhouette appeared in front of him, long-haired and slender and protective and utterly _mad _–

No. No, it couldn't be. No, he _wouldn't _ allow it!

If this – _she_, it whatever it was, finished the chant, there would be something _bad_ –

He hurriedly tugged the small bracelet off his wrist, hoping against hope it would come off - it was with him since forever but now –

Frantically, the weakened fingers, slick with blood tugged at the small band, off and away and _away_ violently tugging it to snap -

_"No!"_

**_"And I, who doth hold thy chains!"_** - He managed to get the blasted thing off just in time, before the thing finished the chant, successfully parting it from himself, hurling it away, but he had a sinking feeling it was already too late.

Shit. _Shitshitshit – _

No matter. All he had to do now was to finish the blasted thing. It couldn't get any worse than it already had. Grimacing, he continued, his cheeks flushed at Riddle's mocking smirk at his little freak-out over the bracelet.

_"Thou clad with the Great Trinity, come forth from the circle of constraint…." _

And then, Harry felt it. And by Riddle's tensing, he was not the only one.

The magic building up, thickening, like the forces of tornado about to be unleashed onto the unsuspecting people and animals. Wild. Animalistic. _Untamable._

Harry's body tensed, and he forgot about the strange bugs and chittering and everything and anything, as he concentrated onto bringing into the reality the image within his mind.

_"Guardian of the Heavenly Scales!"_

Fawkes screeched with dismay, fluttering away from the epicenter of the magical nexus Harry was the middle of.

The last five words, he had practically roared out, commanding the circles within his mind to flare into reality around him with the blazing ultraviolet light, and magic all around him, above, below, within him howled and strained like a beast on a leash, wanting to tear him to pieces, to devour him, but he held on -

And then, there was a flash of deep violet light behind him, and he more felt than saw a presence behind him, a something - no, someone and his hand seared with pain, nearly causing him to black out again.

"W - what the hell have you done?" Riddle's shaken voice was barely audible to him.

The… something behind him growled.

"I ask of you. Are you my Master?"

Harry managed to smirk at the Riddle's horrified face as he managed to hunch upward, his hands protectively embracing his stomach as if to protecting it from the further hurt - a futile gesture, but done just the same.

"Yes, I am."

* * *

The end was fairly anticlimactic. Riddle, despite of his magical prowess, was no match for the …whatever it was that Harry had summoned out. The darkly armored knight was too fast, too strong and too good to be defeated by a mere shade, and in the end, Riddle's diary ended impaled on the tip of Gryffindor's sword stained with Basilisk's poison.

The shade's piercing shriek didn't make Harry any better, but he still felt a smidgen of a vindictive satisfaction at the bastard's gruesome death.

Right now, Harry was panting with the effort it took to stay on his knees and conscious. His eyesight was blurring and he was seeing dark blotches in front of his eyes interspersed only by an eerie red glow from the line of black knight's visor and the wicked looking armor in the dull light of the Chamber. The steel was dull as if the polishing was intentionally neglected yet it gave the appearance of sturdiness and danger, and the only one color, besides some of Harry's blood on the visor, an ethereal, partly see-through ribbon trailed after him from the top of his helmet, changing from the electric blue to the dark violet. The knight was tall, taller than six feet, which made him all the more intimidating, but right now, Harry had other things to worry about - like weathering through that curse the Riddle had hit him with.

_Giigigigi gigigi._

The damned bugs chittered and Harry eyed them, disgust churning through his body. The things were like some prehistoric nightmare come to life, and despite of them being so unwieldy looking they were surprisingly fast little bastards.

"Ugh _- Gah!"_ He choked as his body finally gave up on him, his muscles involuntarily loosening and he squeezed his eyes shut, prepared to meet the bite of the hard concrete –

-Only to be caught against the cold hard armor.

"Steady, Master." The growly voice murmured to him, making Harry tense for a moment as he tried to discern the features of his…. savior?

"Thanks." He murmured. He eyed the bugs distastefully, wishing to just kill them and be done with the entire episode. Hell, at this point he would have accepted being expelled and returned to the Dursleys, if that was what it took to have at least a semi-normal life.

Hogwarts was lauded as the safest building in Britain, aside from Gringotts…the boy's lips curled into a bitter smirk. _What_ safety? If his first year was any indication, this school, for all intents and purposes was more like a lethal trap disguised as a school than anything else.

"Fucking Riddle." He hissed out as the knight gently uncurled him from his hunched position, making him cry out with pain at the movement._ "Ow!"_

As if he didn't have enough trouble with his scar already. And now, the bugs. And with Ginny being here –

Oh shit. _Ginny!_

Widened green eyes looked toward the pale faced, redheaded girl. Fortunately, the racket handn't woke her up… yet. But sooner or later…. Harry bit his lip.

"Damn it. The bugs – " He tried to wiggle out of the knight's hold, but the man only held him tighter and gave out a warning growl.

"No. Don't move." The deep voice cautioned him.

"But - Ginny – " Harry tried to wiggle out, however effort proved to be futile.

"No. Control them, Kariya. "

Bleary green eyes stared at the red line uncomprehendingly.

_Control them?_

He felt sick just by looking at them, sick and repulsed and that idiot demanded he should control them?!

"No. No way." He bit out. "Dun'wanna."

He closed his eyes, wishing to wake up from that strange nightmare of bugs, diaries and mad knights that demanded impossible.

A sharp nudge jolted him back to the unpleasant reality of the situation he was in.

"Control. Girl safe. Don't control…. She devoured."

If Harry had thought that he had reached the bottom of the bottom of the pile of shit he was just proved wrong.

Well, damn.

"Couldn't you just kill them?" He whined as he glared at his dark protector.

"Could, yes. Solution temporary." The answer was short, making Harry's shoulders drop with disappointment.

"I was afraid you would say …. _Nngh…._ That." He panted. "How?"

"Just do. Like hand."

The knight's answer was surprisingly succinct and Harry glared.

"Well, aren't you a helpful bunch of …_ggh_…fucking sunshine."

_Giigigigigi._

Harry sighed.

Hero business was a seriously fucked up job he intended to resign from as soon as he got out of this hellhole.

Oh, and getting some pesticide wouldn't be amiss.

* * *

De-bugging was like trying to walk with multiple pairs of feet. Or learning to write backwards. You know in theory how it should work, but doing it in practice is abysmally - and vastly different from imaging it.

But Harry was nothing if not stubborn to the point of bullheadedness, and despite his revulsion, he managed to get the bugs back to where they belonged - i.e. Into his stomach - and just in time, too.

However, having a bunch of something… _alive_… in his stomach just didn't settle well with him, even if the bugs were now complacent and not moving much aside from the occasional _'loving'_ nibble.

He didn't know how much time had passed. For all he knew it could be hours. Or minutes.

The only signs of his struggle now were his torn and bloodied clothes, his skin was pallid more than it was healthy and he still couldn't walk well enough even if his life depended on it.

_Finally._

Green eyes looked around the Chamber sluggishly, totally disregarding the blood and Basilisk corpse. Right now, Harry didn't have any time to freak out - in fact, he was too damned tired to contemplate any kind of theatrics.

"Now, how to get out of the Chamber?" he murmured to himself, wrinkling his nose at the thought of getting through all the rubble and slime again just to get out into the girls' toilet.

Eww, _yuck._

A small trill answered his question and dull viridian eyes zeroed on the flying turkey - ahem, Phoenix.

The immortal bird glided down from the height it had been flying, while the black knight dealt with the Riddle, making Harry eye it a little bit enviously. Wings were such a good thing to have… and here he was, stuck with a bunch of carnivorous bugs.

Life was truly one unfair, sadistic little bitch.

He was brought out of his moping via Fawkes' trill and the bird's tail feathers waving enticingly near his nose, almost tickling him.

He blinked.

…Tail?

"Master, grab its tail. " the black knight told him, making Harry look at his dumbly.

"Whatever fo - _Oh."_ Harry felt quite foolish at the moment, and almost feeling his cheeks trying to flush with mortification.

Of course. Phoenixes can carry heavy loads too…

"Bring Ginny to me. And we'll go." He ordered the man , who inclined his helmeted head and gently released him from his hold as to get to the redheaded girl that was still quiet.

Ginny 's scent was that of stale water, damp stones and her perfume - strawberries and jasmine, which choked Harry's olfactory senses quite unpleasantly. Although he didn't have any right to say anything about himself smelling like roses either - he was dirty, bloodied and Basilisk gunk along with his own wasn't exactly the best perfume in the whole world.

"Master? Sword?"

Harry nodded absentmindedly as he received the blackened blade which reverted back to its gold steel and ruby appearance as soon as the black knight let go of it. "Yeah… Can you hide?" He winced at the blunt question. "I mean – " he blustered, only for the black knight to nod. "Aye. Spirit form." And within a blink of an eye, the knight vanished as if he was never summoned in the first place.

Closing his eyes, Harry breathed a quiet sigh of relief. 'Well, one trouble down, two to go.' He thought to himself. 'Wonder if he could follow us?'

'_Can do, Master.'_ The Black Knight's voice spoke out in his head, making the boy yelp with fright.

"Shit!"

"Can talk in your mind. Forgive me." Harry twitched at the black knight's explanation slash apology. "Right. We'll talk about it sometime soon." He muttered. "Fawkes? Could you …also pick up Ron and Lockarse?

The firebird chittered with amusement, but nodded, and the next thing Harry knew was blanket of flames enveloping him.

* * *

Ron Weasley wasn't the brightest crayon in the box, but that wasn't to say he was a bad person. True, he had been jealous of his more famous, and occasionally infamous friend, but no matter how much he tried to think differently, he was bloody glad he didn't have to follow Harry into the Chamber. Because he really didn't want to become a chew toy for a really really big snake that could kill him with a look. Harry on the other side, was an unlucky, and a little bit barmy bloke who was stuck with rescuing Ginny from whatever it was - aside from one giant-ass Basilisk - in that room.

And boy, was Ron glad he hadn't gone with Harry when he heard the screams and howls from the other side?

The redheaded second year Gryffindor gulped. What wouldn't he give to have Hermione here… or Dumbledore. They just had to be big time heroes and rush into the thick of things. True, there was also a matter of time, however, looking back, Ron regretted he hadn't at least asked the twins to come along.

He looked at the snoring wizard in disgust. Gilderoy Lockhart was an utter waste of a wizard and if his sister was be damaged in any way shape or form, Ron intended to get his own pound of flesh from the useless blond-haired fake celebrity.

He huffed as he tried to clear the wall again, swearing as a rock the size of his head nearly hit his shoulder. He coughed from the dust, grimacing at the small pile of the rocks he had managed to get out as to clear the passage.

"Blimey, how I wish I could have had a wand right now…" He looked at his broken one mournfully. "I swear, if we ever get out of this I will hit the books… Honest!" His stomach gurgled, reminding him that there should have been a dinnertime and he wasn't in the hall to get his dose of yummy food. "And food." He concluded sheepishly.

He had turned back to the rocky wall, eyeing it critically as to from where should he remove the next rock when the half-darkened room was illuminated with a golden light and a soothing trill made him happier he had been in… ever.

He turned around, blue eyes looking at the arrivals desperately.

And there they were, Harry, strange flaming bird, and her.

"Ginny! Harry!" He sprang up, only to stumble when he awkwardly meandered among the stones to reach them. "You're back!"

"'Lo." His best mate answered quietly. Ron looked over him, his heart clenching at the withdrawn look at Harry's face. Whatever had happened in the Chamber, Harry had to go through the Hell and back to get back here and the faint traces of blood on his chin and clothes didn't help to lessen his concern any better.

"You're hurt!" Ron's eyes were glued at the traces of blood on Harry's jaw and lips, making the other shrug uncomfortably. "Yeah. Later. Let's go now. How's Lockarse? "

Ron had to chuckle at Harry's nickname at Lockhart. "Sleeping like baby. He was hit on his head by a rock so I was left alone."

"Good. Can you take Ginny?" Ron blinked at the request, but complied. "So what now?"

"Waking up the sleeping ass." Harry replied shortly. _"Ennervate."_

The spell hit its target true, and a moment later, Lockarse - ahem, Lockhart was awake.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"Sure you didn't." Harry dismissed Ron's caustic remark. "Get up and let's go."

Lockhart tilted his head, his eyes curiously blank of recognition. "Sure, but dear sir, I don't know your name. Oh, and that reminds me, I can't seem to know my own one either."

The two boys stared at the blond-haired man incredulously.

Finally, Ron opened his mouth.

"For real?"

Groaning, Harry face palmed. "Let's just go. Ron… hold onto me and Lockarse, you hold onto Ron. Don't let go."

"Oh, of course, happy to help." The amnesiac smiled cheerfully. "Just one question, if I may?"

"Yes?"

"I_ am_ named Lockarse, aren't I?"

Ron's less than polite guffaw was lost in the roar of the phoenix-induced flames.

* * *

Their return caused an uproar, as Fawkes had generously flamed them straight to the Myrtle's toilet, in front of the concerned teachers and two panicked parents.

Harry was immediately taken to the Hospital wing, where he was stripped, examined and given a strong painkiller and blood restoration potions before Madam Pomfrey ordered him to go straight to bed.

Fortunately, Ron was not harmed much, except for a slime and dust and occasional scratch from moving the stones and rocks. Lockhart, or, as he insisted to be called, Lockarse - was deemed to be a true blue amnesiac, because if nothing else, he managed to wipe his memories very efficiently and it was doubtful the St Mungo's personnel could restore them back into proper order.

Personally, Harry thought it was a kind of a poetic justice - the bastard was living off of the deeds of real heroes and it was a good feeling to know he had gotten his just desserts, although it galled him that Lockhart wouldn't be judged for his past crimes, as he was, in a sense, an entirely new person.

Ginny was okay - apparently she had slept through the entire episode, but she would still have to take the calming potions and be regularly checked by St Mungos' personnel for any discrepancies in her psyche.

Harry himself was just tired. The scans had shown that virtually nothing was wrong with his body, which baffled everyone, because he had lost an alarming amount of blood while in his confrontation with Riddle. Even when Harry mentioned the curse – _Carnivere Penitus_ - the scans returned blank. It was as if he had never been cursed to begin with, so Harry had to amend his story to him confronting Riddle hunting the Basilisk, killing the said Basilisk - no, really? - getting a lift from Fawkes and arriving back.

If there wasn't a persistent gnawing in his stomach that was steadily advancing up to his chest, Harry would have dismissed the entire episode as a some kind of a nightmarish dream.

But the pain was too real. The jagged triskelion sign on his right hand was too real to be just a part of an insane fantasy of an attention-seeking brat he had been accused it to be.

Painkillers helped, but only to a point. They took away the edge, but Harry knew that sooner or later he would have to stand his ground and face the pain without them, and that meant an ever-present agony.

The black-haired teen sighed, as he looked at the cabinet with the phials of potions stocked in dully.

He heard the doors open, but he didn't deign to turn his head as too look who had come to visit him. He didn't try to delude himself that they were his friends - after the latest disaster cum heroic adventure, there was no way the adults would behave any more responsibly that they had during the philosopher's stone fiasco.

"Ah, Harry, my boy. I thought you would have been asleep already." The old, wizened voice would have raised Harry's hackles if he hadn't been so, so tired already.

Harry's eyebrows involuntarily climbed up. "Then why visit me at all?" His retort was crisp, delivered in a whispery voice. His throat had hurt from all that shouting in the Chamber, and even if the painkillers helped to soothe the jagged feeling of having an uncomfortably swollen throat, it didn't help with returning his voice to its normal range, so he was forced to whisper.

"Because we would like to hear your side of story. Ronald was already asked, but alas, he doesn't know all the details, as he wasn't privy to your confrontation to … anything you have found in the Chamber."

Harry had to bite back a hysterical chuckle at Dumbledore's careful phrasing.

"Indeed." Another voice entered the conversation, and Harry's mouth tilted downward minutely. "The Hogwarts Education Committee would also be very interesting in your story."

_Malfoy._ Lucius Malfoy, the bastard who was indirectly responsible for this mess to begin with.

Harry felt his blood boil, and his stomach churned uncomfortably as its tenants were shifting around restlessly. How he wished to sic upon him the black knight…

_No. _

Even if he had felt the black knight's anticipation - _since when could he feel it?_ - it was not the place nor the time for the retribution. Dull green eyes looked at the visitors, noting the miserable little being behind the blond man's elegantly sewn robes.

That damned elf.

Number three factor for Harry's current situation present and accounted for. Harry refused to look at the pathetic creature - he didn't appreciate its attempts to kill him, thank you very much.

Instead, dull green eyes moved to look at the wizened old Headmaster.

"Of course."

The resulting talk was long and awkward - Harry had to explain just why he thought it was a good idea to head into the Chamber without adult supervision - Lockarse apparently didn't count and that was known by all three parties – what happened when they were down - Lockarse's bright attempt at poaching the fame, obviously – and was there really a Basilisk and what did Harry mean about the diary siphoning off young Ginevra's life force - No, really? Did they think he had pierced his own arm just because he wanted to have a cool souvenir scar for visiting the Chamber of Secrets? And was a leech-diary really so strange of a thing to comprehend? They lived in a _Wizarding_ world, for Merlin's sake.

By the end of the talks Harry was ready, willing and able to sic the bugs on both of the annoying idiots. Concerning the bugs, they were not mentioned, and Harry kept mum on his apparent protector who was still hovering somewhere on the room, but invisible to the two adults. If they didn't see him, Harry decided, then he was not obligated to explain to them about his new… servant.

Speaking about the servants, that stupid elf had been hurting himself and looking meaningfully at Harry, like Harry would know what that meant.

"Is that all, my boy?" The old wizard finally decided to cease the torture – ahem, questioning.

Harry shrugged. "Yeah." Then, he blinked. "Oh, and Mr. Malfoy, the diary… I think it was yours." He hissed slightly in pain as he mentioned to the man the aforementioned book - a little dirty and ruined via the sword puncture through the cover, but otherwise in a good state.

Slate grey eyes narrowed. "And what makes you think that, boy?" Lucius Malfoy asked silkily, as he fingered the snake head of his walking cane. Harry stilled.

Really, what gave him the right to accuse Lucius Malfoy of all people to be the culprit for the mess? True, he had seen the man dropping the diary into Ginny's cauldron, but in the end, it was Ginny's fault to write into the damned thing - even if he had been raised amongst Muggles, Harry had heard Mr. Weasley cautioning his brood not to use anything they didn't know how it worked. And it was his word – the word of a child, even if a famous one at that, against a word of a grown-up, respectable wizard - and Harry had enough trouble with grown-ups that he knew they weren't to be really trusted. All that went through the green-eyed wizard's mind with the speed of light as he blinked slowly. "M'sorry, Mister Malfoy. I didn't speak right." He tilted his head on the side, as to appear properly contrite. It had worked with Vernon, and he hoped to Hell and back it would work on Malfoy. "I am sleepy and my head is spinnin'. What I meant to say… could you take this diary and have it investigated? I don't wanna Hogwarts be closed down… it's my home." He admitted sheepishly, as he closed his eyes as he wetted his parched lips.

"Harry, my boy – " Dumbledore's protest was interrupted by a sound of a cane hitting the ground followed by the whisper of silks as the man stood up. "It appears the boy can be taught, Dumbledore." The man's cold drawl made Harry want to growl at the arrogance of his statement. Instead of that, he remained still, as if he had exhausted his last vestiges of energy. " Very well, as a Hogwarts Governor, I will take upon myself the duty to find the true culprit. Now, where is the diary?"

Green eye opened in a slitted, half-dazed glance, before it immediately shut down. "Ask nurse. She gots all th'stuff." Harry's words were slurred as he finally succumbed to the lure of sweet dreamless rest.

Whatever happened after that, it really wasn't Harry's concern.

As the two men went away to find the diary, the boy's pale lips curved in a small, barely seen smirk.

The ruckus half an hour later didn't have anything with him.

After all, how could he have done anything to the diary when he was firmly under the hold of Dreamless Draught?

* * *

Harry missed the Feast and with it the announcement of Gryffindor once again getting the House Cup, not that it would have mattered to him at this point. He had enough to deal with on his plate, thank you very much, and no pun intended. Verdantly colored eyes glared at the plate of hospital food as if it had mortally offended him, while in fact, it just sat there innocently, waiting for his consumption.

The problem was, he was reluctant to partake in the consumption of the dish, which was mashed potatoes with gravy and tender steak with a side dish of green salad. Moderately appetizing, but Harry had a problem in the shape of you-know-what residing in his stomach, and what was worse, nobody believed him he was housing the you-know-what's, so he was on his own in this new dilemma. He glared at his stomach as if that would solve all his problems, but even a minute or so staring at the aforementioned part of his body didn't solve the problem.

He really didn't feel hungry - okay, he did, but he didn't know what eating would do to the bugs. Not that he was concerned about them, but he really didn't want to feel them gnawing through his intestines more they were already doing, thank you very much!

"To eat or not to eat, that's the question." He muttered to himself sardonically, as he eyed the food once again. Besides his new pallor, he was rested enough to be fully cognizant of his surroundings, even if he did spend more time in the bed than usual. The school nurse – Pomfrey - had detained him here because of his blood - apparently having been poisoned by a Basilisk and then cured by Phoenix tears was kinda big deal, and coupled with his new acquisitions, not that the stern Mediwitch believed him, it was enough to land Harry straight to one of the hospital bed and dosed with pain potions to his gills for the first three days. Until now, he had been on nutritional potions, and while they tasted vile, they at least weren't adversely affecting his body-pests - ahem, body-guests. But food now was a whole new ball game, and even if Harry knew he would have to at least maintain the illusion of normality. That didn't mean he was any more eager to take the first step in attaining it, beginning with the food intake. He did have the classes in the school on Anatomy, and he was reluctant to consume food when he had his entrails chewed through.

"Mr Potter you _will _eat it!" Pomfrey's imperious voice made him wince and look around with the comically paranoid expression on his face. _'How the hell did she know that?'_ He wondered, his eyes slightly wide behind his newly-repaired glasses.

_'Master. Safe to eat.'_

Ahh. And there he was, his mysterious protector again.

Verdant eyes looked in the corner where the massive form was floating. Even now, when he got to know this black knight, Harry couldn't help but marvel at the ghost's - person's mere presence. The knight was tall, six feet at least, if not more, and clad in armor that seemed to be made of shadows. A red slit on his helmet glared at him with menacing light, while the two ethereal ribbons from the top of his helmet were floating behind him in color of electric blue fading to deep violet.

"And how would you know that, Berserker?" He asked his companion mulishly. "In case it escaped you, you weren't the one who got his stomach eaten out, you know."

When he had been switching between consciousness and dreams, he had found out that his mysterious helper's name was Berserker. The knight was also a person of a few words, making Harry pout a little, even if he was relieved he didn't have to suffer through the inane chatter, but still!

_'You Kariya. You can do it.'_

Harry's cheeks pinked by Berserker's unintentional compliment. "Gee, _thanks."_ He snapped out sarcastically, before reaching for a fork to stave off his confused embarrassment. He was never cheered on - if the knight's flat, growled out words were cheering - and this was a novel experience for him. And what was with the man calling him Kariya?

Reluctantly, he scooped up the fork some mashed potatoes and gravy before carefully lifting it to his mouth. The tastes hit his greedy palate in a mixture of sweet and salt and earthy flavors, making him hum with delight before he carefully - reluctantly - gulped the mouthful down and tensed in the anticipation of a horrible pain.

Nothing. "Huh?" He blinked, confused. Carefully, he scooped up another mouthful, rolled it across his tongue a bit and then gulped it down.

Still okay.

Harry couldn't believe his luck. He could eat! And with no pain to boot! Maybe Pomfrey's scans were right – he began to eat a little faster, taking only a brief moment to enjoy the tastes.

"Why?" He managed to ask between his mouthfuls as he looked at the shadowy form inquiringly. "How?"

The knight tilted his head. _'You Kariya. They obey you.'_

Harry scowled. "Kariya what?" He pressed on as he stabbed the salad. "You've called me that before, but I still don't know what it means." Green eyes looked at the knight over his glasses.

_'You Harry. You Kariya.'_ The knight replied unrepentantly, and Harry got a feeling the knight was having a fun at his expense, making him huff with resigned irritation.

"You just love to mess with me, don't you?"

The helmeted head tilted in a mocking parody of consent.

Glaring, Harry chomped down on the piece of the steak, chewing it mulishly.

Two hours later, the pain hit.

Well, at least he was able to eat without making a scene, Harry mused to himself wryly as he whimpered, curling himself into a small ball under the covers, waiting for the painkillers to hit.

* * *

The next morning - it was cloudy outside - he managed to chow down a porridge and then he was helped to clothe himself. The previous night's _'cramps'_ made him paler than usual, and he had small bags under his eyes and his hair was even messier than usual, but otherwise, he was proclaimed right as rain by Pomfrey, even if she did warn him not to do any strenuous activities for a little while. Harry snorted inwardly at the warning, wryly musing whether or not the Dursleys would even heed it.

"Hey, mate! Ready to go?" Ron called, poking his head into the room, only to stumble in, courtesy of Hermione's shove. He was still clothed in an uniform, but his cloak was askew and his red hair was terrible mess, no doubt a courtesy of his twin brothers' noogies. "Oi! That wasn't nice, Hermione!" The redheaded boy complained at the bushy-haired young witch who only sniffled at him with disdain. She was also clad in school uniform, only she wore skirt instead of trousers, and her tie was neatly done, while Ron's was still not tied, the ends hanging loosely on his chest. "Oh, honestly, Ron. You _did _ block the entrance." She threw at him, before looking at Harry. "Harry!" She squealed as her brown eyes widened at the state the young green eyed-wizard. "Are you feeling well? I wanted to visit you, but Madame Pomfrey said you needed rest and oh!" She reached for his arm. "I heard you killed a Basilisk – " Her voice was awed but tinged in disapproval. "You should have let adults to deal with it!"

Harry exasperatedly rolled his eyes heavenward at her bossiness. "Hermione, there was _no time_. " He stressed the last two words. "And Lockarse was completely useless." Ron snickered at Lockhart's new nickname, quickly dodging Hermione's elbow. "Ron!" Hermione scolded him, before turning back to Harry. "Did you really have to tell him his name was… that?" She grumbled, but her eyes were glinting with amusement. "'Course he did, Mione." Ron butted out. "He was completely useless waste of space. We took him along for the Basilisk bait, but - " "Ronald Weasley! That was cruel!" Hermione screeched, rounding at him. Ron snorted, scowling. "Tosser deserved it. Because of his bragging, Ginny was _this _close-" He showed thumb and finger together with a smidge of distance between them – "To death. He even said he wanted to Obliviate us and then take some of basilisk skin and return as a hero!" He ended the diatribe with a snarl. "So don't ever say he is as innocent as a fucking lamb!"

An uncomfortable pause ensued, before Harry sighed. "What's done is done, Mione." He told the young witch, his eyes involuntarily darkening at the memories of his time in the Chamber. "Ginny is well, we are good and Hogwarts is safe." He smiled at her thinly, making her sigh. "I suppose you are right." Hermione admitted grudgingly. "But you, are you alright?" She looked over him with critical eye, and Harry tried not to fidget under the close scrutiny.

"Not yet. But I will be. Pomfrey says it is a miracle I survived." He told her honestly, making her pale a bit at his frankness. "Anyway, enough with depression. Wanna help me to the carriages?" His unintentional puppy-eyed look made her huff with laughter in relieved exasperation.

"'Course we will, mate." Ron smirked.

Harry smiled and nodded, his heart for the first time after all this mess, felt light with happiness. Of course, he still had some dirty secrets, but right now, he chose not to dwell on it and enjoy the company and chatter of his two best friends.

The future would come soon enough, but for now, he was content to listen to Hermione's concerned nagging, Ron's enthusiastic descriptions of the Feast and laugh at their little spats.

All was well in the world.

Nobody noticed the black silhouette, shrouded in the shadows standing protectively over the green-eyed wizardling, red slit glaring menacingly at the world, as they slowly walked to the carriages.

Nobody… but _her._

Hazy silver eyes widened and then blinked.

"Oh…so they _do_ exist."

Pale pink lips stretched into amused smile.

"Wouldn't Daddy be surprised…"

And then, she turned and skipped back to her friend, humming cheerfully.

Finding _Pullus Umbra_ was a momentous occasion, however some secrets were better left alone.

Besides, that sunny day was a good time for the Bibbering Humdingers to court their mates, wasn't it?

And with that thought in her mind, Luna smiled.

**_/The End/_**


End file.
